Chapter 10
Three years is a long time to fight a ghost.
The legal battle to appeal Dominic’s sentence was a grueling, agonizing slog through federal red tape, appeals courts, and classified syndicate documents.
I didn't quit my job at the hospital, but I reduced my hours. The rest of my time was spent pouring over legal briefs, meeting with the high-powered defense attorney Judge Vance had reluctantly recommended, and raising Maya in the sprawling, beautiful suburban estate Dominic had left us.
I had followed his instructions. I painted the sterile white walls in warm, inviting colors. I planted a massive vegetable garden in the backyard, which Maya enthusiastically helped me destroy every weekend. The house was no longer a mausoleum; it was a home, echoing with laughter and life.
But it was a home with an empty chair at the dining table.
Dominic refused to see me.
For three years, I had submitted visitation requests to the federal supermax facility in Colorado where he was being held. Every single one was returned, stamped Inmate Refusal.
He was holding onto his promise to keep me in the light, completely severing himself from my world to ensure I moved on. He didn't know I was funding his appeal. He didn't know I was fighting a war on his behalf.
Until the third week of October.
I was sitting at the kitchen island, helping a now six-year-old Maya with her spelling homework, when my phone rang.
It was Marcus. He had remained a constant presence in our lives, running his private security firm but always ensuring our estate was protected by his best men.
"Emma," Marcus’s voice sounded tight, lacking its usual calm cadence. "Turn on the news. Channel 4."
I frowned, grabbing the remote and flicking the small kitchen television on.
The breaking news graphic flashed across the screen in glaring red letters.
FEDERAL APPEALS COURT OVERTURNS KEY SENTENCING GUIDELINES IN SALVATORE RICO CASE.
My breath caught in my throat. I dropped the remote, staring at the screen as the reporter detailed the unprecedented legal victory.
The aggressive defense attorney had successfully argued that the original plea deal was heavily coerced by federal agents eager to close the high-profile case without fully investigating the involvement of the deceased Julian Salvatore and the incarcerated Vincenzo Moretti. By meticulously proving that Julian had ordered the most violent hits—including the bombing that nearly killed Dominic—the court was forced to acknowledge that Dominic’s confession was partially falsified to protect the investigation’s integrity.
"They threw out the life sentences, Emma," Marcus breathed through the phone, pure shock evident in his voice. "They re-sentenced him based only on the financial crimes he could actually be proven guilty of."
"How long?" I gasped, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. "Marcus, how long is the new sentence?"
"With time served, good behavior, and the extraordinary cooperation he provided in dismantling the syndicate..." Marcus paused, the silence agonizing. "He’s eligible for immediate release, Emma. He’s coming home."
I dropped the phone. It clattered against the granite countertop.
I sank to my knees on the kitchen floor, burying my face in my hands, sobbing tears of pure, overwhelming, unadulterated joy. Maya abandoned her homework, rushing over to wrap her small arms around my neck, patting my back gently.
"Don't cry, Mommy," she murmured softly.
"I'm happy, baby," I laughed through my tears, hugging her tightly against my chest. "I'm just so, so happy."
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of frantic preparation.
I didn't tell Dominic I was coming. I knew if I warned him, his stubborn, protective pride would find a way to avoid me, to disappear into the wind rather than risk dragging me back into his orbit.
I flew to Colorado alone, leaving Maya with Mrs. Higgins—who now lived comfortably in a renovated guest house on our estate—and Marcus.
I stood outside the towering, oppressive concrete walls of the federal penitentiary, the freezing mountain wind biting through my coat. The sky was overcast, threatening snow, but I felt nothing but a blazing, impatient fire in my chest.
At exactly 10:00 AM, the heavy steel pedestrian gate groaned open.
A lone figure stepped out into the freezing air.
He didn't wear a tailored charcoal suit. He wore a simple, faded gray sweatshirt, jeans, and a canvas jacket provided by the prison. His dark hair was longer, slightly graying at the temples, and the harsh lines of his face were deeply carved by three years of isolation and regret.
But as he looked up and saw me standing by the rental car, fifty yards away, the fearsome, untouchable mafia boss completely vanished.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
He dropped the small, clear plastic bag containing his few personal effects. It hit the pavement with a soft thud.
I didn't wait.
I sprinted across the parking lot, completely ignoring the federal guards watching from the towers.
Dominic stumbled forward, his legs seemingly forgetting how to work, until he finally broke into a desperate, frantic run to meet me.
We collided in the center of the asphalt lot.
He grabbed me by the waist, lifting me completely off the ground, crushing me against his chest with a desperate, agonizing force. He buried his face in my neck, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he broke down, weeping silent, heavy tears against my skin.
"You're here," Dominic gasped, his voice incredibly rough from disuse, holding me as if I were a mirage that might vanish at any second. "Emma... how are you here?"
"I told you," I sobbed, wrapping my arms fiercely around his neck, burying my face in his hair, breathing in the scent of cold air and the man I loved. "I protect my family."
He pulled back slightly, letting me slide down until my feet touched the ground, but he refused to let go of my waist. He looked down into my eyes, his own shining with a profound, overwhelming disbelief.
"You appealed the sentence," Dominic realized, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from my cheeks. "My lawyers said an anonymous benefactor funded the defense. It was you."
"I used the money you left me," I smiled, a fierce, triumphant expression. "I used the mafia’s legitimate fortune to buy your freedom."
Dominic stared at me, utter awe washing over his exhausted features. He had spent his life surrounded by ruthless men, but he had never encountered a force as terrifying and beautiful as the woman standing in front of him.
"I told you to live in the light, Emma," Dominic whispered, pressing his forehead against mine, closing his eyes in absolute surrender. "I told you to forget me."
"I don't take orders from retired mob bosses," I whispered back, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
He kissed me back with a desperate, starving passion, a kiss that tasted of three years of agonizing separation and the intoxicating promise of a future finally within reach.
"Let's go home, Dominic," I murmured against his lips.
"Home," he repeated the word as if it were a prayer.
We walked back to the car, his arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, never once looking back at the concrete fortress that had tried to bury him.
The monster who had ruled Chicago was dead.
May you like
But the man who had loved a waitress enough to burn his world down for her had finally returned to the light.
And this time, I wasn't going to let him face it alone.
