POV: Dominic
The calls were traced within three hours.
Blocked numbers. Burner phones. The kind of obfuscation that meant nothing to my people. Two calls to Thomas Monroe's apartment the day before his cardiac episode. Two conversations designed to do one thing: rattle an old man with a weak heart.
I stood in my office, reading the report, and felt something cold settle in my chest. It worked. Vincent Caruso baited a hook with my wife's father, and I walked her right to the hospital. I went with her instead of stopping her. I allowed it.
Because she'd looked at me with those hazel eyes, tears threatening to fall, and said "I'm not waiting" in a voice that broke on the last word.
And I'd folded.
I made a call. Thomas Monroe was transferred before sundown to a private care facility in
