I should be repulsed by his casual acceptance of violence as a solution.
Instead, I find myself wondering what it would be like to live in a world where justice doesn't require paperwork, where threats can be eliminated rather than processed.
"Would you have arrested me if I had?" Dom asks, watching me carefully. "For protecting you?"
Would I? "It would have been self-defense," I say, avoiding a direct answer.
"That's not what I asked." His voice remains gentle, but insistent. "Would you have put cuffs on me after I got stabbed for you?"
“No.” And there it is. The truth I've been avoiding.
The lines I once thought were clear are blurring. In Dom's world, protection means elimination of threats.
In mine, it means due process, evidence, trials. But what happens when the system I believe in becomes the threat?
"Your world and mine aren't so different, Olivia," Dom says, as if reading my thoughts. "We both want to protect what's ours. We just have different methods."
"The law exists for a reason," I counter.
“But who makes the laws? A drug dealer goes to jail and a pharmaceutical company gets rich.”
“That’s different. Pharmaceuticals help people feel better.”
“And other drugs don’t?” He arches a brow.
“Drug companies follow regulations and don’t kill people.” The minute I say it, I know he’s going to point out how untrue that is.
“Tell that to all the people who died from opioids. You can break the law if some moral code says it’s okay. Robin Hood stole from the rich and gave to the poor, hurray for him. Madoff stole from the rich and kept it. He goes to jail.”
“Robin Hood isn’t real.”
“Okay, gambling is against the law, but many states run lotteries. Prostitution is against the law, but porn isn’t. Both involve selling sex.”
“That’s not the same.”
“Okay, murder is illegal and yet we have the death penalty.”
“Not in New York.”
He smirks. “The Federal government still has the death penalty.”
“The law isn’t perfect, but it protects us. You’re all about protection.”
He leans forward. “And who protects us from those who enforce the law?" He gestures to my injuries. "Who protects you from them?"
I have no answer for that. The FBI has been my family, my purpose, my moral compass. If I can't trust it anymore, what's left?
“You still see me as a monster while giving those you work with, those who kidnapped a child, a pass.”
I shake my head. “No.”
He shrugs, but my sense is that he’s bothered by how I view him and his world.
“The reality is the law benefits those with money, power, and influence. Surely you see that.”
I understand what he’s trying to say even if it feels a little bit like he’s trying to justify his illegal activities. “You have money, power, and influence?—”
“And I’m not in jail.”
