Chapter 7 - What Survived the Blast
The elevator hit bottom hard enough to throw Dominic to his knees.
Metal screamed.
Lights shattered.
Amelia crashed against him.
Dominic curled around Luca before impact.
For several seconds, there was nothing but ringing.
Then the blast from above rolled through the shaft.
Heat.
Pressure.
Dust.
The elevator doors bowed inward.
Dominic held Amelia against his chest.
“Stay down.”
“What about Luca?”
Dominic looked.
His hands were shaking.
The baby moved beneath his jacket.
Then cried.
Dominic closed his eyes.
Alive.
“Good,” he whispered. “Be loud.”
Amelia laughed weakly.
Smoke seeped around the doors.
Torres lay against the opposite wall.
Blood darkened his shirt.
“Everyone alive?”
Dominic looked at him.
“Unfortunately.”
Torres smiled.
“Good.”
Amelia shifted.
Pain crossed her face.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
“I’m dizzy.”
His fear returned instantly.
“Why?”
“I just had a baby in a bank vault.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It answers several.”
Dominic looked at the blood beneath her.
Too much?
He had no idea.
“Samuel.”
The phone was gone.
Destroyed above.
Dominic reached for the emergency elevator panel.
No signal.
He slammed his fist against the doors.
“Open.”
Nothing.
Again.
“Dominic,” Amelia whispered.
“No.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do.”
He forced his fingers into the gap.
Metal cut his hands.
“Don’t close your eyes.”
“I’m tired.”
“Be tired later.”
Torres pushed himself upright.
“Manual release.”
“Where?”
“Top corner.”
Dominic found the lever.
Jammed.
Torres joined him.
Together they pulled.
The doors opened six inches.
Smoke entered.
Beyond them was the armored loading corridor.
Sprinklers poured water from the ceiling.
Dominic forced the doors wider.
He picked Amelia up.
She protested weakly.
“Luca.”
“Inside my jacket.”
“Careful.”
“I would throw myself under a truck before dropping him.”
“That’s weirdly reassuring.”
They stepped into the loading bay.
Emergency lights flashed red.
A federal tactical team appeared through the smoke.
Weapons raised.
“Hands!”
Dominic didn’t stop.
“My wife needs a doctor.”
Amelia looked at him.
Wife.
Neither corrected him.
Agents rushed forward.
Monroe appeared behind them.
“Medical!”
Paramedics flooded the corridor.
One took Luca.
Dominic resisted instinctively.
“Sir, let go.”
“No.”
“Dominic,” Amelia said.
He looked at her.
“Let them help him.”
His arms opened reluctantly.
A paramedic carried Luca toward a medical station.
Another placed Amelia on a stretcher.
Dominic followed.
An agent blocked him.
“You’re staying here.”
Dominic looked at the hand on his chest.
The agent removed it.
Monroe approached.
“He goes with her.”
“Ma’am—”
“He goes.”
Dominic looked at Monroe.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“Likely impossible.”
She almost smiled.
They reached the ambulance.
Doctors worked on Amelia.
Dominic stood at the doors.
“Blood pressure dropping,” someone said.
His stomach turned.
“Why?”
The medic ignored him.
“Possible postpartum hemorrhage.”
Dominic went white.
“Fix it.”
The physician looked up.
“We’re doing everything we can.”
“Everything isn’t a medical treatment.”
“Dominic.”
Amelia’s voice.
He stepped closer.
She reached for him.
He took her hand.
“You’re still bleeding,” he said.
“I know.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I gathered.”
Her eyelids fluttered.
“Stay awake.”
“Bossy.”
“Correct.”
“Where’s Luca?”
“Doctors.”
“Is he okay?”
Dominic looked toward the nearby neonatal team.
A nurse gave him a thumbs-up.
“He’s breathing. They said he’s small but stable.”
Amelia smiled.
“Good.”
Her eyes closed.
“Amelia.”
No response.
“Amelia.”
The monitor alarm changed.
Doctors pushed Dominic away.
“Sir, move!”
“No.”
“Dominic!”
Monroe dragged him backward as the ambulance team worked.
“Amelia!”
No response.
Dominic fought Monroe’s grip.
“She needs room!”
“She needs me!”
“She needs doctors!”
That stopped him.
The ambulance doors closed.
Dominic stared.
Then it drove away.
For a moment, the most powerful man in New York stood in the middle of Fifty-Third Street covered in blood, soot, and dust with no idea what to do.
Matteo appeared.
“Boss.”
Dominic turned.
Matteo’s face tightened when he saw the blood.
“It’s not all mine.”
“Where is Amelia?”
“Hospital.”
“Baby?”
“Alive.”
Matteo exhaled.
Then Dominic punched him.
Matteo hit the side of the armored truck.
Agents reached for weapons.
Monroe lifted a hand.
“Leave it.”
Matteo straightened slowly.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“You lost her.”
“Yes.”
“You buried reports.”
“No.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“I swear.”
“Then who?”
Matteo held out a phone.
“We traced the authorization.”
Dominic looked.
An internal security directive.
Surveillance on Amelia terminated.
Signed digitally by Dominic Castellano.
Except Dominic had never signed it.
“Forgery.”
“Yes.”
“Who had my credentials?”
“Three people.”
“Vane.”
“Yes.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“And…”
Matteo met his eyes.
“Salvatore.”
Dominic looked toward the burning bank.
“Where is he?”
“Private aircraft left Palm Beach forty minutes ago.”
“For where?”
“We don’t know.”
Dominic’s voice became quiet.
“Find out.”
Monroe stepped between them.
“No.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
“You’re not conducting a private manhunt.”
“My uncle tried to murder nine civilians, Amelia, my child, and me.”
“And now he’s a federal suspect.”
Dominic laughed once.
“You think that protects him?”
“I think if you kill him before we arrest him, we lose evidence.”
Dominic stared.
“You still want the ledger.”
Monroe’s expression didn’t change.
“The ledger survived?”
Torres limped from the loading bay carrying the black case.
“Apparently.”
Everyone aimed weapons.
Torres slowly placed the case down.
“Relax.”
Agents arrested him.
Monroe picked up the ledger.
Dominic watched.
Twelve billion dollars.
His freedom.
His empire.
Everything documented inside.
Monroe looked at him.
“This can destroy you.”
Dominic glanced toward the road where Amelia’s ambulance had disappeared.
“I know.”
“Your attorneys will tell you to fight.”
“I know.”
“You could spend decades in prison.”
“I know.”
“Then why aren’t you asking for it back?”
Dominic looked at her.
“Because I have somewhere else to be.”
He walked toward the second ambulance.
Monroe called after him.
“Castellano.”
Dominic stopped.
She lifted the ledger slightly.
“We will talk.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After I know Amelia lives.”
He climbed into the ambulance.
For once, federal agents let him go.
At St. Vincent’s Medical Center, Dominic arrived still covered in blood.
Nurses tried to stop him.
His name changed their minds.
Not because of fear.
Because six television crews had already gathered outside.
News of the bank siege had exploded across the city.
Billionaire Dominic Castellano enters hostage bank.
Pregnant civilian rescued.
Explosion rocks Midtown.
Social media had video of Dominic entering the bank alone.
What no reporter knew yet was why.
Dominic found the neonatal intensive care unit first.
Luca lay inside an incubator.
Tiny.
Red-faced.
A monitoring sensor wrapped around one foot.
Dominic stopped outside the glass.
He did not enter.
A nurse approached.
“You’re the father?”
The word struck him.
Father.
“Yes.”
“He’s doing well for thirty-five weeks.”
“Doing well?”
“Breathing without significant support. Good heart rate. Strong cry.”
Dominic nodded.
He couldn’t speak.
“Would you like to touch him?”
Fear crossed his face.
The nurse noticed.
“You won’t hurt him.”
Dominic looked at his hands.
Cut.
Bruised.
Blood beneath his nails.
Hands that had signed orders destroying men.
Hands that had held weapons.
Hands that had built an empire through fear.
“I need to wash.”
The nurse smiled.
“Yes. You do.”
Ten minutes later, Dominic sat beside the incubator wearing a hospital gown over borrowed clothes.
He placed one finger through the opening.
Luca’s tiny hand closed around it.
Dominic froze.
That was all.
One hand.
Five miniature fingers.
Yet Dominic felt more trapped than he had inside the bank.
And for the first time, he welcomed it.
The nurse returned.
“Mr. Castellano?”
He looked up.
“Amelia is out of surgery.”
Dominic stood so quickly the chair tipped.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
His knees nearly gave out.
“She had significant bleeding, but they controlled it.”
“Can I see her?”
“Soon.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Alive.
Both.
Alive.
Then the nurse hesitated.
“There’s someone asking for you downstairs.”
“Who?”
“Your uncle.”
Dominic’s eyes opened.
Every trace of relief vanished.
“Salvatore?”
“Yes.”
“He’s here?”
“He arrived with an attorney. Security called police, but he says he wants to speak to you before they take him into custody.”
Dominic stared through the glass at Luca.
His son still held his finger.
Salvatore had come to the hospital.
Either he was suicidal.
Or he still believed he possessed leverage.
Dominic gently freed his hand.
“Tell security no one enters this floor without Matteo.”
He walked toward the elevator.
Downstairs, Salvatore Castellano waited in the hospital chapel.
Seventy years old.
Silver hair.
Navy suit.
A cane resting beside him.
He looked exactly as Dominic remembered from every family Christmas.
The sight made Dominic hate him more.
Salvatore turned.
“Dominic.”
Dominic closed the chapel door.
“Why?”
Salvatore sighed.
“You were never supposed to survive the bank.”
“That part I understood.”
“I meant why come here?”
“To see you.”
“You tried to kill my son.”
Salvatore looked toward the stained-glass window.
“That child will destroy everything our family built.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“No.”
Salvatore looked at him.
“He already saved it.”
A faint smile.
“You’re sentimental now.”
“I’m awake now.”
“You think Amelia loves you after what you did?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“You think a child makes you different?”
“It does.”
“No.”
Salvatore leaned forward.
“It makes you exactly like your father.”
Dominic went still.
Salvatore smiled.
“And your father died because he chose family over power.”
Dominic stared.
Then Salvatore delivered the sentence that changed the past.
“Antonio’s highway accident wasn’t meant to kill him.”
Dominic’s breath stopped.
“What?”
“He was supposed to surrender the company.”
Dominic’s voice became deadly quiet.
“Who killed my father?”
May you like
Salvatore met his eyes.
“I did.”
