Chapter 7 - The Trigger Point
The barrel of the revolver looked impossibly large in the dim lighting of the bedroom.
Claire stood entirely still, her breath catching in her throat. She had seen gunshot wounds in the emergency room—the destruction, the blood, the shattered lives. But looking down the barrel of a loaded gun held by a desperate man was an entirely different nightmare.
“Put the gun down, Raymond,” Claire said, forcing her voice to remain flat and devoid of fear, using the psychological calming techniques she had learned in trauma training. “The house is surrounded. You’re on camera.”
“I don't give a damn about the cameras!” Raymond shrieked, his eyes wild and unhinged. “If I’m going down, I’m taking Victor’s miracle nurse with me!”
Victor swung his legs over the bed, his face contorted in fury. “Raymond! Put that gun on me! Leave the girl out of this!”
“Shut up, old man!” Raymond barked, shifting his stance, his finger tightening against the trigger curve.
Before Raymond could pull the trigger, the heavy double doors of the master suite didn't just open—they were blown off their hinges.
BANG!
The heavy oak door slammed inward with explosive force, striking Raymond square in the back and knocking him violently forward onto his knees.
Dominic charged into the room like an unleashed storm.
In one fluid, terrifying motion, Dominic grabbed Raymond’s wrist, twisting it sharply upward. A sickening CRACK rang out through the room as Raymond’s wrist snapped. The snub-nosed revolver clattered harmlessly onto the rug.
Raymond let out a blood-curdling scream of pain.
Dominic didn't stop. He kicked the gun across the floor, grabbed Raymond by his collar, and slammed him face-first onto the wooden floorboards, pinning him down with a heavy knee pressed firmly against the small of his back.
Three armed Moretti security guards flooded into the room, their weapons drawn, securing the perimeter.
Dominic didn't look at Raymond. He didn't look at his guards.
His head snapped up, his dark, panicked eyes frantically searching the room until they landed on Claire standing near the closet.
“Claire!” Dominic called out, his voice raw and breathless, abandoning all corporate stoicism. “Are you hit? Did he shoot you?!”
Claire swallowed hard, her knees shaking as the adrenaline crash hit her body. “I’m... I’m fine, Dominic. I’m okay.”
Dominic let out a long, ragged exhale. He turned his attention down to Raymond, grabbing the older man by his hair and pulling his head back so he was forced to look up.
“You brought a gun into my father’s bedroom,” Dominic whispered, his voice so quiet and terrifyingly cold that even the guards standing at the door visibly winced. “You pointed it at the woman who saved his life.”
“Dominic... please...” Raymond begged, tears of pain streaming down his face as he clutched his broken wrist. “It wasn't just me! I had help! I can give you names! The Falcone family in New York... they paid me!”
Dominic leaned down, whispering directly into Raymond’s ear. “I don't need names, Raymond. I already have their addresses.”
Dominic snapped his fingers. Two guards stepped forward, hauling the groaning traitor off the floor.
“Take him down to the basement garage,” Dominic ordered flatly. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
“Dominic, wait!” Sophia’s voice cried out from the hallway.
Sophia rushed into the room, looking horrified as she watched Raymond being dragged away in handcuffs. She looked at her father sitting upright on the bed, then at Dominic, and finally at Claire.
“What is going on?!” Sophia sobbed. “Raymond? Why are they arresting Raymond?”
Victor looked at his daughter, his eyes softening slightly. “Raymond was trying to kill me, Sophia. And he tried to make it look like you did it.”
Sophia went dead pale, her hand flying to her mouth as the full horror of the realization settled over her. She sank into the nearest armchair, weeping uncontrollably.
Dominic stepped toward Claire. He stopped inches away from her, reaching out his hand. He hesitated for a second, then gently rested his fingers against the side of her neck, checking her pulse himself.
His thumb was warm, steady, and remarkably tender for a man who had just snapped an assassin’s wrist.
“You were incredible,” Dominic murmured softly, his dark eyes searching hers.
Claire looked up at him, her breathing finally evening out. “I told you... I don't quit easily.”
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Dominic smiled—a real, genuine, breathtaking smile that transformed his harsh, dangerous features into something devastatingly handsome.
“Come downstairs with me,” Dominic said, offering her his arm. “It’s time we ended this properly.”
