Chapter 5 - the empty room
The rain started falling in sheets as Dominic’s Escalade pulled up outside St. Jude’s Children’s Shelter in Newark. The brick building was old and weathered, surrounded by high chain-link fences and dim yellow streetlights.
Dominic stepped out into the rain, his trench coat catching the wind. Frank followed close behind, holding a flashlight.
Inside the quiet shelter, the night receptionist, a tired middle-aged nun in a grey habit, looked up in alarm as Dominic pushed through the heavy wooden doors.
"Can I help you, sir? Visiting hours ended at eight."
Dominic pulled an envelope from his pocket, setting a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills on the counter, accompanied by the photograph of Clara.
"Where is the girl in this picture?" Dominic asked gently, his tone firm but devoid of hostility.
Sister Margaret looked at the photo, then looked up into Dominic's piercing eyes. Her expression softened with instant recognition, followed by worry.
"She was brought here yesterday afternoon by Mr. Hayes," she said softly. "He told me her father was an overseas contractor who had passed away, and that she was waiting for a foster placement."
"Is she upstairs in 4B?"
"She was," Sister Margaret said, her voice trembling slightly. "Until forty minutes ago."
Dominic's heart slammed against his ribs. "What happened forty minutes ago?"
"A black town car arrived. Two men came with an official court custody order signed by Judge Vance. They said they were transferring her to a private protective facility in upstate New York."
"Did you see the men?" Dominic demanded.
"One of them was tall, very polite. But the other one..." She hesitated. "He had a distinctive tattoo on the back of his neck. A black serpent wrapping around an anchor."
Dominic froze.
The black serpent and anchor wasn't a Boston tattoo. It wasn't the Moretti crew.
It was the personal insignia of the Valerio family’s private maritime enforcement squad—the men who answered only to Dominic’s personal flagship yacht. The men who were supposed to have died alongside him in Greece seven years ago.
"Did they leave anything?" Dominic asked, keeping his voice dead calm despite the storm raging inside him.
Sister Margaret reached into a drawer under the desk. "The little girl dropped this as they were leading her out to the car. I tried to give it back, but the man pushed her into the backseat and sped off."
She laid a small object on the counter.
It was a delicate silver chain holding an antique silver locket. Dominic’s large hand picked it up carefully.
With a click of his thumb, he popped the locket open.
Inside the tiny oval frame was a miniature photograph of Dominic Valerio from ten years ago, standing on the deck of his yacht, his arm wrapped around a beautiful woman with golden hair and a radiant, loving smile.
Elena. Dominic’s wife.
And engraved inside the silver lid were four words etched in fine script:
*To our daughter, Clara. Forever protected.*
Dominic stared at the engraving, his vision tunneling.
He had never known. Elena had died in a private clinic during childbirth while he was fighting a turf war in Chicago eight years ago. They had told him the baby died with her.
They had buried an empty casket.
Dominic closed his fist around the locket, his knuckles turning stark white.
May you like
"Frank," Dominic spoke, his voice vibrating with lethal intensity. "Find out who authorized that custody order from Judge Vance. And tell the boys to bring the heavy iron."
***
