Chapter 10 - The Flight to Zurich
Twelve hours later, the private Gulfstream G650 sliced through the predawn clouds at forty thousand feet, heading east across the Atlantic toward Swiss airspace.
Inside the mahogany-paneled cabin, the hum of the jet engines provided a steady, hypnotic background noise. Olivia, Sophie, and Nora were finally fast asleep on the plush leather divan, curled up together beneath a cashmere blanket, their breathing soft and even.
Grace sat across the aisle from Dominic, watching him through the dim cabin lights as he meticulously cleaned the slide of his Sig Sauer with an oiled cloth.
"You didn't have to bring them," Grace said softly, gesturing toward the sleeping girls. "Director Vance offered to place them in a secure federal safe house in Virginia while you handled Thorne."
Dominic didn't look up from the barrel of his pistol. "My family stays where I can see them. I made the mistake once of letting someone else protect my home. I won't make it twice."
Grace was silent for a moment. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small, worn silver locket—the one Isabelle had worn every single day before she died.
"I found this in the garden bushes behind the mansion this morning," Grace said, holding it out across the aisle. "One of the gardeners must have dropped it during the cleanup, or... maybe Isabelle dropped it when she ran."
Dominic stopped cleaning the gun. He laid the cloth down on the tray table, reached out with steady fingers, and took the locket. He popped it open. Inside was a tiny photograph of him and Isabelle taken on their wedding day in Santorini, both of them laughing into the Mediterranean sun.
"Thank you, Sarah," Dominic said, using her real name for the first time.
Grace gave a faint, tired smile. "Don't thank me yet, Dominic. When we land in Zurich, we're walking into a hornet's nest. Thorne has federal immunity guarantees from three different European banking cartels. Walking in with a gun won't be enough."
Dominic snapped the slide of his pistol home with a sharp, crisp clack that echoed softly through the cabin.
"I'm not going there to negotiate with bankers," Dominic said, his voice dropping into that dark, subterranean register that made empires tremble. "I'm going there to collect a debt."
He stood up, walking quietly toward the rear of the cabin to check on his daughters. As he leaned over to pull the cashmere blanket higher over Nora’s shoulders, the little girl stirred, her eyes fluttering open in the dim light.
She didn't look scared. She reached up, touched Dominic’s rough, calloused cheek with her tiny hand, and whispered three words that had once seemed impossible ever to hear again.
May you like
"I love you, Daddy."
Dominic kissed her forehead, his chest aching with a fierce, burning love. Then he turned his gaze toward the cockpit window, where the first faint golden rays of dawn were beginning to break over the dark, endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.
