fiction

Chapter 9 - Cleaning the Slate

Dawn broke over Long Island in streaks of lavender and gold.

By 7:00 AM, Julian Vance had arrived with three unmarked black vans and a clean-up crew that worked with surgical precision. The broken glass was swept, the damaged drywall patched, and the bodies removed without a single siren ever echoing down our private road.

Julian walked up to me on the terrace, handing me a leather folder.

"The police reports from fourteen months ago have been updated with Marcus’s recorded confession from the security audio," Julian said, his face haggard. "Officially, Marcus Kane fled the country to avoid federal embezzlement charges. Unofficially... the city knows Isabelle was avenged."

"And the syndicate?" I asked, looking out over the gardens.

"They respect the boundary. They know what happened to the last man who crossed you." Julian paused, looking toward the garden lawn where Grace was sitting on a stone bench with Nora on her lap. Olivia and Sophie were chasing a golden retriever puppy Julian had brought along.

"What are you going to do now, Dominic?" Julian asked quietly. "The organization needs a boss."

I watched Sophie throw a tennis ball, laughing out loud—a bright, crystalline sound that carried on the morning breeze.

"Promote Frankie to handle logistics," I said, without taking my eyes off my children. "Transition all our assets into legitimate commercial real estate and shipping. Close the private clubs. End the protection rackets."

Julian blinked in shock. "Dominic... you're walking away?"

"I died the day Isabelle was killed," I said, turning to look my old friend in the eye. "These past fourteen months, I was a ghost haunting a graveyard. But today... my daughters called me Daddy. I don't need an empire, Julian. I need to be a father."

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Julian stared at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he offered a respectful nod. "Understood, Boss. It will be done."

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