Chapter 8: Twin Storms
He couldn’t sleep. The hum of the refrigerator downstairs was a distant, persistent drone, but it wasn’t the noise that kept him awake. It was the new presence under his roof, a ghost from a life he’d torched. Dominic lay on his back, Catalina a warm curve against his side, her breathing deep and even. The moon through the window cast a silver blade across the bed, illuminating the photograph on his nightstand—a shot of Catalina laughing, head thrown back, taken years ago in L.A. before everything changed.
He remembered the exact feel of the camera in his hand that day. The smell of exhaust and sun-hot asphalt. The simple, uncomplicated joy on her face. A joy that hadn’t been about him, not in that way. Not yet.
His hand drifted from his own chest to rest on Catalina’s bare stomach. The skin was taut and warm. He traced slow, absent circles, waiting. A minute passed, then he felt it—a sharp, insistent push against his palm from deep inside her. Then another, a few inches lower. A restless, synchronized dance.
“They’re throwing a party in there,” Catalina’s sleep-thickened voice murmured. She hadn’t opened her eyes.
“Keeping you up?”
“Keeping you up, I think.” She turned her head on the pillow, her blue eyes glinting in the low light. “You’re thinking about her.”
He didn’t deny it. His fingers continued their slow orbit on her skin. “She found us, Cat. If she could, others can.”
“She’s Letty. She’s not ‘others.’ She’s family.”
“Family we left behind for a reason.” His voice was low, a gravelly rumble in the dark. “Family that doesn’t know the rules of this house.”
Catalina shifted, wincing as one of the twins delivered a solid kick to her ribs. She guided his hand to the spot. “Feel that? Future mechanic. Or a soccer player.”
He smiled, just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth. It was their old joke, from when she was pregnant with Mina. Trying to guess who was growing inside based on the kicks. It was a fragile thread of normalcy. He focused on the palpable life beneath his hand, pushing back the cold dread Letty’s arrival had brought.
“She’s in real trouble,” Catalina said after a moment. “The kind that finds you.”
“And now it’s parked in our barn.” He sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room. “I should go check the perimeter. Make sure she wasn’t followed.”
“Dom, it’s three in the morning. If someone followed her through the Alps in the dark, they’re already inside.” She placed her hand over his, stilling its movement. “We’ll deal with it in the light.”
He turned onto his side, facing her. The moonlight caught the planes of his face, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. He looked at her—really looked—at the faint lines of fatigue under her eyes, the fierce beauty that had always been his only true north. “I can’t lose this,” he whispered, the words stripped raw. “I can’t lose you. Them.”
“You won’t.” She brought his hand to her lips, kissing his grease-stained knuckles. “We protect what’s ours. That’s what we do. That’s who we are.”
He leaned in, his forehead touching hers. He breathed her in, the scent of her skin, the herbal shampoo she used. It grounded him. “Those mothers today… that’s just the beginning. If the world finds out…”
“The world is downstairs on our couch, scared out of her mind,” Catalina interrupted gently. “One problem at a time.”
He kissed her then, not with passion, but with a desperate, aching certainty. A seal. A promise. His hand slid from her stomach to her hip, pulling her closer against him. The blanket fell away.
“If I can’t calm them down,” he growled softly against her lips, his voice laced with a frustration that had nothing to do with the babies, “maybe I can exhaust you enough to sleep through it.”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
He didn’t answer with words. His mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, then down the column of her throat. His touch was both familiar and fiercely urgent, a reclamation of the sanctuary they’d built against the intrusion of the outside world. Her hands came up, fingers threading into his short, dark hair.
It wasn’t gentle. It was necessary. A physical conversation that bypassed all the fear and planning. His grip on the headboard tightened, the wood creaking softly in protest as he lowered himself between her thighs. Her gasp was swallowed by the quiet of the room, a sharp sound that was both pleasure and a release of the day’s coiled tension.
Later, spent and tangled in the sheets, the outside world did fall away. The kicks inside her had stilled. Her breathing deepened into sleep against his chest. But Dominic remained awake, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Listening. Not just to Catalina’s breaths, or the old house settling, but for any sound from below that didn’t belong.
The faint click of a door. The creak of a floorboard.
He heard nothing but the endless, distant hum of the refrigerator.
Dawn came as a slow, gray seep through the windows. Dominic had only dozed in fits, and he was already dressed in a worn gray t-shirt and jeans when he heard the first sounds from downstairs. The quiet pad of feet on the stone floor. The soft clink of a mug.
He left Catalina sleeping and descended the stairs, his movements silent. Letty was in the kitchen, her back to him, staring out the window at the mist-shrouded valley. She held a steaming mug in both hands. She wore the same clothes from yesterday, looking slept-in and frayed.
She sensed him. She didn’t turn. “Coffee’s made,” she said, her voice raspy.
He didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Who’s after you, Letty?”
She took a sip, her shoulders stiffening. “You remember Hector? Ran the chop shop out of Chatsworth?”
Dominic nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “Sketchy. Small-time.”
“Not small-time anymore. He got ambitious. Started moving product for the Campos cartel. I did a few drives for him. Fast cars, good money.” She turned finally, her face pale. “Last run went bad. Cops were waiting. Not local. Feds. Hector thinks I flipped.”
“Did you?”
Her eyes flashed, a spark of the old Letty. “No. But someone did. The load was compromised. Hector’s in the wind, but his new friends… they don’t believe in loose ends. They think I know where he is, or where the money is. Or they just don’t care.” She set the mug down on the counter with a sharp click. “They torched my apartment, Dom. With my dog inside.”
The raw pain in her voice was undeniably real. Dominic uncrossed his arms. “Why come here? Why not go to Brian? To Mia?”
A bitter smile twisted her lips. “Brian’s a cop. Or was. He’s straight now, or tries to be. I show up there, I bring hell to his doorstep. Mia has a life. You two…” She gestured vaguely at the house, the mountains outside. “You vanished. I figured if anyone knew how to disappear, it was you. I tracked the sale of the garage, followed the money through a few shell companies. Took a lot of favors. A lot of digging.”
“You endangered us.” The statement was flat, devoid of accusation. It was just fact.
“I know.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll go today. Just… needed a night not looking over my shoulder.”
Catalina’s voice came from the stairs. “You’re not going anywhere.”
They both turned. She stood on the bottom step, wrapped in a thick robe, her hair messy from sleep. She looked soft and severe all at once.
“Cat, I can’t stay—”
“You think they stopped looking just because you got on a plane?” Catalina walked into the kitchen, going straight to the coffee pot. “If they’re cartel-level, they have resources. They’ll trace you here eventually. Maybe they already have.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “So what’s your plan?”
Catalina poured her coffee, thinking. She looked from Dominic to Letty, the gears turning. “We need to know what we’re dealing with. We need a name. A face. Someone specific.”
Letty shook her head. “I never met the cartel guys. Just Hector.”
“Then we find Hector,” Dominic said, his voice low. “Before they do.”
“What?” Letty blinked. “No. Dom, you’re not listening. These people are not like the guys we used to race against. They don’t play by any rules. They’ll kill Mina. They’ll kill…” Her eyes flicked to Catalina’s stomach. “Everyone.”
“I heard you,” Dominic said. He walked to the window, looking out at the silver mist. It hid the world, a temporary blanket. But the sun would burn it off. The choices would be clear and stark. “You came to us. You brought this to our door. That makes it our problem.” He turned back to face her, his expression the one he wore when staring down a rival driver at a midnight start line. Unwavering. Final. “We find Hector. We get him to call the dogs off. We make you disappear. For real this time.”
“How?” Letty’s voice was a whisper.
Dominic’s gaze shifted to Catalina. A silent communication passed between them, forged in years of shared risk and understanding. “We use what we have,” Catalina said, answering Letty’s question. “We have money. We have new names. We have a place to hide you that no one knows.” She paused, her hand resting on her belly. “And we have a reason to fight dirtier than they do.”
Letty looked between them, the twin forces of their resolve almost a physical pressure in the room. She saw it then, the depth of the fortress they’d built. It wasn’t just made of stone and Swiss bank accounts. It was made of this fierce, unbreakable loyalty to their own.
“Okay,” she breathed, the word a surrender and a acceptance all at once. “Okay.”
From upstairs, the sound of Mina’s cheerful morning babbling floated down. The ordinary, precious sound was a stark contrast to the conversation in the kitchen.
Dominic walked over to Catalina. He didn’t put his arm around her. He just stood close, his shoulder brushing hers, a point of contact. “We’ll need to move fast,” he said, his voice for her alone.
“I know,” she murmured back, leaning into him for a second. Then she stepped away, all business. “First, we get Mina to the sitter in town. The usual story. Then we talk. We plan.”
She moved past Letty towards the stairs, pausing only to put a hand on her old friend’s arm. The touch was brief, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words. Forgiveness? Acknowledgment? A promise.
“Go take a shower,” Catalina said, her voice softening. “You smell like diesel and fear.”
After she left, Dominic and Letty stood in the quiet kitchen. The mist outside was beginning to glow at the edges, the sun fighting to break through.
“I meant what I said, Dom,” Letty said quietly. “I didn’t come here to blow up your life.”
Dominic finally looked at her, really looked at her. He saw the girl who had wielded a wrench beside him, who had laughed at his jokes, who had been part of the only family he’d known before Catalina became everything. The ghost of that loyalty flickered in his chest, a stubborn ember.
“Too late,” he said, but the edge was gone from his voice. It was just a fact, now. “It’s blown up. Now we see how many pieces we can put back together.”
He walked to the back door, unlocking it. The cold, pine-scented morning air rushed in. “Grab your things from the rental. We’re putting it in the barn. Then you’re helping me with the Bronco. It needs new brake lines.”
It was an order. It was also an offering. The first step back into the old rhythm, the only language of trust he knew—working side by side.
Letty nodded, a ghost of her old smirk touching her lips. “You still letting amateurs touch your brake lines?”
“Just this once,” he said, and held the door open for her.
The cold air bit through Dominic’s t-shirt as he crossed the gravel drive to the barn, Letty a half-step behind. The rental car, a bland silver sedan, felt like a beacon. “We’ll strip the plates, stash it behind the tractor,” he said, his breath frosting. “For now.”
“You always were good at hiding things,” Letty said, her tone unreadable.
He shot her a look but said nothing, popping the trunk. Her life was in a single duffel bag, worn and scarred. He hauled it out, the weight surprising him. It clinked softly. “Tools?”
“And other things,” she replied, taking it from him. “Hector’s last payment. Untraceable. For a new start.”
He eyed the bag, then her face. The money changed nothing, and everything. It was a target. He led her into the cavernous, oil-scented garage where the hulking shape of the ’74 Bronco sat on blocks. “Brake lines are shot. Start by bleeding the old fluid. Tubing cutter’s on the bench.”
He tossed her a rag and she caught it without looking, her movements falling into the old, familiar rhythm. The silence between them was filled with the sound of tools clinking, the sigh of the hydraulic jack. It was a language they both understood, safer than words.
“This Campos cartel,” Dominic began, his voice echoing slightly under the Bronco’s chassis. “They operate in L.A.?”
“Mostly,” Letty called from where she was working at the wheel well. “But their money moves everywhere. Miami. Vegas. Zurich.”
Zurich. The word hung in the greasy air. Too close. Dominic’s wrench turned with more force than necessary. “And Hector’s their local idiot.”
“Their local idiot who knew everyone in the scene. Knew us.” The hiss of the brake line being cut was sharp and final. “He’s scared. He’ll run to whoever he thinks can protect him. Or pay him.”
“Or he’ll try to buy his way out by giving you up,” Dominic said, sliding out from under the truck. He stood, wiping his hands. “He knows you’d come to family.”
Letty didn’t deny it. She leaned against the fender, her arms crossed over her chest. The posture was defensive, but her eyes were steady. “I didn’t have a lot of options, Dom.”
“You had other options. You chose this one.” He wasn’t accusing her now, just stating a fact. “So we deal with it. We find Hector before his new friends do. We make him send a message that you’re not worth the bother.”
“And how do we do that?” She pushed off the fender, picking up a wrench. “Send a greeting card?”
“We send me.” Dominic’s voice was flat. “I find him. I explain the new reality.”
Letty froze, the wrench hovering over a fitting. “No. Absolutely not. You walking back into that world? With everything you have here? It’s insane.”
“It’s the only play.” He walked to a workbench cluttered with engine parts, his back to her. “You stay here with Cat and Mina. You’re a ghost. I go back, stir the pot, and pull Hector out of the drain.”
“And what do you use for bait?” Her question was sharp.
He turned, a grim smile touching his lips. He gestured around the garage, at the vintage tools, the pristine equipment, the Bronco. “This. The life. I let it slip that I’ve got a new operation. Something quiet, lucrative, and off the books. He’ll hear it. A guy like Hector, he’s always listening for an angle.”
“You’re setting yourself up as a target.”
“I’m setting myself up as the solution to his problems.” Dominic picked up a carburetor, turning it over in his hands. “He needs a bolt-hole, new papers, a way to disappear with his cash. I can offer that. Or seem to.”
Letty stared at him, the realization dawning. “You’re using yourself as a shield.”
Before he could answer, the side door to the house swung open, flooding the garage with a slice of warm, golden light. Catalina stood silhouetted in the doorway, her robe replaced by jeans and a faded L.A. Rams sweatshirt that stretched over her belly. The morning light caught the worry in her eyes before she smoothed it away.
“Mina’s with Frau Helwig,” she said, her voice cutting through the mechanical tension. She walked in, her sneakers silent on the concrete. She looked between them, reading the charged silence. “Plotting your heroic sacrifice already, Dom?”
“Something like that,” he grunted.
She went to him, taking the carburetor from his hands and setting it down with a firm click. Her touch was deliberate, a grounding wire. She looked up at him, and for a moment it was just them in the room, the world narrowed to the space between their faces. Her expression was fierce, a silent argument.
Then she turned to Letty. “You okay to watch the house for a few hours? We’ve got that thing in town.”
Letty nodded, her eyes dropping back to the brake line. “Yeah. No problem.”
Catalina turned back to Dominic. She reached up, her thumb brushing a smudge of grease from his cheekbone. The gesture was intimate, ordinary, and it carried the weight of a thousand shared mornings. Her voice dropped, softening but leaving no room for negotiation.
“Don’t forget the appointment at the clinic today, Dom.”
The sentence landed in the garage like a dropped tool. It wasn't about car parts or cartels. It was about heartbeats and due dates, a fragile future measured in sonograms and check-ups. It was a reminder of what was at stake, far more concrete than any hidden money or old rivalries.
Dominic’s eyes held hers. The plans, the danger, the ghosts of L.A.—all of it receded, blurred at the edges by the clear, urgent reality in her blue gaze. The clinic. The twins. Their secret, ticking clock.
He gave a single, slow nod, his hand coming up to cover hers where it still rested against his face. “I remember,” he said, his voice rough.
He remembered everything.
He remembered everything. The appointment loomed in his mind, a stark white calendar square blocking out all other plans. Letty’s danger became a background hum, a problem for later. Right now, the only threat that mattered was clinical and cold, waiting in a sterile room downtown.
He drove, the familiar growl of the Audi a comforting constant. Catalina sat beside him, her hand resting on her stomach. She stared out the window at the passing blur of pines and steep roofs. The playful valley now felt like a painted tunnel leading to a verdict.
“She asked if we’d thought of names,” Catalina said, her voice barely above the engine’s murmur.
“What’d you tell her?” Dominic kept his eyes on the winding road.
“I told her we were considering ‘Panic’ and ‘Chaos’.” A faint smile touched her lips. “She didn’t laugh.”
“Doctors have no sense of humor.” He downshifted for a tight turn. “It’s a requirement.”
The clinic was a modern, low-slung building of glass and pale wood, designed to blend into the Alpine calm. It felt alien. They walked from the parking lot in silence, their shoulders nearly touching. Dominic held the heavy glass door open for her, his hand briefly brushing the small of her back.
The air inside was too warm, smelling of antiseptic and floral air freshener. A few pregnant women sat in the waiting area, their partners flipping through magazines. A nurse called, “Frau Toretto?” using the name on their forged documents. Catalina stood, and Dominic followed, a step behind.
Dr. Adler’s examination room was all soft edges and muted colors, a failed attempt at warmth. She was a woman in her fifties with a calm, efficient demeanor and eyes that missed nothing. “Hello again,” she said, her English precise. “Please, sit.”
The ultrasound gel was cold. Catalina flinched as it touched her skin. Dominic stood rigidly by her head, one hand on her shoulder, his gaze fixed on the grainy monitor as it flickered to life.
Two tiny, shimmering forms materialized in the oceanic gray. Hearts flickered like captured stars. A foot, then another, pushed against the uterine wall. Dr. Adler moved the wand, measuring, clicking. The rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of dual heartbeats filled the room, a frantic, miraculous drumming.
“They look strong,” Dr. Adler said, her tone professional. “Good growth. Everything appears perfectly on schedule.”
Dominic let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His grip on Catalina’s shoulder eased slightly.
Then Dr. Adler turned off the machine. She handed Catalina a towel to wipe her stomach. She sat on her rolling stool, her hands folded in her lap. The shift was subtle, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“As we discussed last time,” she began, her eyes moving between them, “given your… relation, the standard genetic counseling recommendation is quite strong.” She paused, choosing her words with medical care. “The risks for recessive conditions increase significantly. There can be a higher chance of cardiac issues, neurological complications.”
Catalina’s fingers clenched around the damp paper towel. Dominic’s hand returned to her shoulder, a firm anchor.
“We have the bloodwork from your initial panel,” Dr. Adler continued, her voice gentle but relentless. “We can do more specific carrier screening now. It would give us a clearer picture. It’s something I strongly urge you to consider.”
The room was very quiet. The cheerful poster about breastfeeding on the wall seemed to mock them. This was the cold, scientific underbelly of their secret, laid bare on a doctor’s stool.
“We’re aware of the risks,” Catalina said, her voice surprisingly steady. “We discussed it.”
“Understanding the statistics is one thing,” Dr. Adler pressed gently. “Being prepared for potential outcomes is another. We have excellent support groups. Specialists in Zurich.”
“We don’t need groups,” Dominic said, the words coming out sharper than intended.
Dr. Adler nodded, unfazed. She’d seen denial before. “It’s your decision, of course. My job is to ensure you have all the information.” She stood, smoothing her white coat. “The rest of your vitals are good. Schedule at the front for four weeks.”
They walked out of the room, past the smiling receptionist, back into the too-warm waiting area. The other couples were just blurred shapes. Dominic held the clinic door open again, the cold outside air hitting them like a physical relief.
He didn’t speak until they were in the car, the doors shut, sealing them in a silent capsule. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The engine remained off.
“They’re strong,” Catalina said, staring straight ahead. “She said they were strong.”
“She also said ‘cardiac issues.’ ‘Neurological complications.’” He recited the terms like curses.
“She’s doing her job.” Catalina turned to him, her eyes blazing. “What do you want her to do, Dom? Not tell us? Lie?”
“I want her to look at the screen and see our kids,” he growled, finally turning the key. The engine roared to life, a violent, satisfying sound. “Not a fucking pedigree chart.”
He drove too fast out of the parking lot, tires scrabbling on the gravel. The pent-up fear from the sterile room transmuted into speed. Catalina let him, saying nothing, just watching the trees whip past.
After several minutes, his foot eased off the accelerator. The car settled into a rhythmic purr. He reached across the console, his hand finding hers. He laced their fingers together, squeezing tight. Her skin was cold.
“They’re strong,” he repeated, echoing her, as if saying it would make it true.
“We’re strong,” she corrected, squeezing back.
They drove the rest of the way home wrapped in a shared, defiant silence. The clinic’s warnings hung in the air between them, but so did the memory of those two flickering hearts on the screen. It was a battle of sounds—the clinical, risk-assessment voice of the doctor against the primal, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of their children.
When they pulled into the barn, the rental sedan was gone, fully hidden. Letty was outside with Mina, pushing her on a makeshift swing hung from a sturdy pine branch. Mina’s laughter echoed in the crisp air, a pure, piercing sound.
Seeing them, Letty gave the swing one last push and walked over. She took in their faces, the tension etched around Dominic’s eyes, the resolved set of Catalina’s jaw. “Everything okay?” she asked, her voice cautious.
“Fine,” Dominic said, the word a flat stone.
Catalina walked past her toward Mina, her face transforming as she smiled at her daughter. “Hey, sweet girl! Did you have fun with Tia Letty?”
Letty watched Dominic as he walked to the Bronco, running a hand over its fender as if checking his work. His movements were tight, controlled. “The clinic,” she guessed softly, so only he could hear.
He gave a barely perceptible nod, not looking at her.
“I made lunch,” Letty said, raising her voice slightly, an offering of normalcy. “It’s nothing fancy. Just soup.”
“Sounds good,” Catalina called back, lifting Mina from the swing. The child’s chatter filled the yard, a bright counterpoint to the dread still clinging to them from the clinic.
They ate in the kitchen, Mina in her high chair babbling about squirrels. Letty didn’t ask any more questions. She told a story about a race gone wrong in Bakersfield, the kind of old, harmless tale that used to make up their world. Dominic listened, pushing his soup around his bowl.
His phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it—a notification from a secure, encrypted app he used for the business he pretended to run. It was a simple alert. A message received.
He stood up, his chair scraping loudly. “I gotta check something in the barn.”
Catalina’s eyes met his, a question in them. He gave a slight shake of his head. Not here. Not now.
He walked out into the gray afternoon, the cold air biting. Inside the barn, away from the warmth and the laughter, he opened the app. The message was from a number he didn’t recognize, routed through three anonymous servers.
It was short. No greeting.
Heard you might be in the market for a fresh start. For a man with certain skills. Talk?
A photo was attached. It was slightly blurry, taken from a distance, but the face was unmistakable. Hector. He was sitting at an outdoor café, a newspaper in his hands, looking nervous. The background wasn’t L.A. Palm trees were visible. The caption below the image held coordinates and a time.
Miami. Two days.
Dominic stared at the screen, the clinic’s warnings fading into a dull buzz. This was a different kind of risk, a tangible one. Hector was making contact. The bait had been taken.
He deleted the message and wiped the phone’s cache. He stood in the dim barn, the smell of oil and cold concrete surrounding him. One fire in his home, another smoldering across an ocean. He looked back at the house, at the golden light in the kitchen window where his family sat.
The whoosh-whoosh of the heartbeats echoed in his memory, a fragile rhythm. He had to silence the other drums, the ones beating a threat. He had to make the world quiet enough to hear that precious, double sound forever.