Chapter 2 - The Shadow Over Dorchester Avenue
The black SUVs idling outside looked like sleek predators cutting through the swirling snow. Mina’s heart pounded against her ribs as the door handle jerked twice. She unlocked the deadbolt, stepping back into the warm glow of the diner’s harsh fluorescent lights.
The man who entered did not rush; he commanded the room simply by crossing the threshold. He wore a charcoal wool coat over a crisp black suit, his jaw sharp, his dark eyes sweeping the interior like a tactical operative. Behind him, two broad-shouldered men in leather jackets flanked the entrance, their hands resting ominously inside their coats.
"Mina?" his voice was lower in person, a deep baritone laced with authority.
"He’s in the booth," Mina said, pointing a trembling hand toward the back.
The man bypassed her instantly, dropping to his knees beside the red vinyl bench. The icy demeanor melted away as he looked at the child. "Ezra. Look at me, buddy."
"Daddy," Ezra whimpered, reaching out. "I hid like you said. But I got cold."
"You did good, kiddo. You did great," the man whispered, gently running a hand over the boy’s hair, careful to avoid the dried blood at his temple. He turned his head slightly toward one of his men. "Marco, get Dr. Vance on the line. Have the clinic cleared."
He then stood up and turned to Mina. Up close, his presence was staggering. He was Dominic Torrio—a name spoken in hushed tones across Boston, a man rumored to control the docks, the real estate, and the shadows of the city.
"Who did this to him?" Dominic asked.
"I found him in the alley," Mina said, her voice steadier than she felt. "He was already hurt when I opened the door to throw out the trash. I wrapped him in my coat and brought him inside."
Dominic looked down at the faded, fleece coat draped over his son’s legs, then back to Mina’s eyes. He took a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders settling slightly. "You saved his life, Mina Reyes."
Before she could respond, the back door of the kitchen rattled open. Burkett, the manager, stepped into the dining area holding a ring of keys and a half-eaten sandwich. He froze, his eyes widening as he took in the scene—the heavily armed men, the bleeding child, and Dominic Torrio.
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"What the hell is going on here?" Burkett stammered, pointing at Mina. "I told you to wrap up an hour ago! Who are these people? Get out before I call the cops!"
Dominic didn't even turn his body. He simply glanced at Burkett with a look so cold it froze the manager’s breath in his throat.
