Chapter 7
The driver gripped the steering wheel tightly, a grim smile spreading across his face. “Yes, Boss. Hanging on.”
Elara gasped, bracing herself against the leather seat as the SUV accelerated violently. The St. Jude Private Shelter for Foundlings loomed out of the darkness ahead. It was a bleak, imposing brick structure, surrounded by high iron fences and heavy steel gates. It looked nothing like a sanctuary for children; it was a black-site facility operated by the criminal underworld to hide their most valuable and vulnerable leverage.
The heavy SUV slammed into the steel gates at forty miles per hour. The sound of rending metal shattered the quiet night. The gates buckled and burst open, sparks flying as the convoy tore into the bleak courtyard. The fleet of black vehicles skidded to a halt in a chaotic, defensive semi-circle, their bright headlights pinning the facility’s armed guards like deer in the headlights.
“Stay in the car until the perimeter is secure, Elara. Is that understood?” Dominic asked, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Elara nodded quickly, shrinking back into the seat.
Dominic threw his door open and stepped out into the chaotic courtyard. The warm golden highlights of the headlights illuminated his tailored three-piece suit and his cold, unwavering gaze. His men poured out of the SUVs, heavily armed and moving with military precision. Gunfire erupted briefly, but the Hart syndicate guards, overwhelmed by the sudden and brutal assault, threw down their weapons and surrendered within seconds.
Dominic walked calmly through the sea of surrendered guards, his polished shoes crunching on the broken glass and gravel. He approached the heavy wooden double doors of the facility. He didn't bother opening them.
“Will you breach this door, gentlemen?” Dominic asked his enforcers.
Two men stepped forward with a heavy battering ram. With one massive swing, the doors splintered and crashed inward. Dominic stepped over the wreckage, entering the bleak, dimly lit reception area. The facility was cold, lacking any of the clean whites or elegant warmth of his mansion.
A terrified woman in a severe gray suit—the director of the facility—stood trembling behind the reception desk, clutching a telephone.
“Where is the infant that Selene Hart brought to you this morning?” Dominic asked, his deep, measured voice echoing off the concrete walls.
“You... you can’t be in here!” the director stammered, her face pale. “This is a private facility! The Hart family protects us!”
Dominic slowly closed the distance, his towering, masculine frame looming over the desk. He reached out with his tattooed hand and gently disconnected the telephone cord from the wall.
“Do you honestly believe the Hart family can protect you from the man standing directly in front of you?” Dominic asked softly. “Shall I instruct my men to burn this building to the foundations with you inside it, or will you point me to the nursery?”
The director burst into tears, her bravado completely shattered. She pointed a shaking finger toward a heavy steel door at the end of the hallway. “Second floor! Room four! Please, don’t hurt me!”
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Dominic turned back toward the courtyard. He looked at the SUV where Elara was waiting.
“Are you ready to fetch our daughter, Elara?” Dominic asked loudly over the noise.
