One of the consequences of Dom’s fixation on vengeance is that he has not learned how to be emotionally open and vulnerable with another person. There’s so much—about the club, his life, how he spends his time—that he cannot share with anyone outside the club, so that he becomes detached every from “basic human emotion” (51), prompting him to wonder if he’s become “immune” to it. However, he begins to feel relieved and, eventually, restored and soothed by his emotional vulnerability with Cecelia.

His initial feeling of awakening is replaced by more significant emotional developments. Dom says it feels as if he was “roused from a deep sleep to open [his] eyes and see the world through a magnifying glass” (157). This emotional awakening grows into a willingness to “get lost in the oblivion Cecelia offers because [he] need[s] her […]—if only for the peace she brings with her” (197). Allowing himself to be vulnerable with Cecelia gives Dom a break from all the horrors in his head. At a certain point, he no longer thinks about her father, especially because she seems to hate Roman as much as the Kings do, and she stills his thoughts about the human traffickers. Thus, she inspires a heightened awareness of life’s beauty and a sense of peace. Despite his initial reluctance, he realizes that allowing her to see so many hidden parts of himself makes him feel as though he’s “not scattered, but present. […] As lost as I feel—and have felt—she continues to find me and bring me back” (204). Their emotional vulnerability and closeness restores and redeems Dom.

The more vulnerable and open he is with Cecelia, the more Dom begins to feel fully human and worthy of love. That someone as remarkable as her loves him makes him feel “invincible.” He feels that “being with her revives [him] and that every day [they’re] together, she brings [him] back from the brink, collecting pieces of humanity and empathy [he] felt [he’d] lost” (314). Cecelia shows him that he has value, that he is worthy, that he can still be whole, despite everything he’s been through and all he knows. In exile, Dom even feels bad for Tobias because he’s never experienced this for himself. Dom describes it, saying that it’s “as if [Cecelia] could see every part inside and appreciate each one—no matter how well some of it works and some doesn’t” (362). Allowing himself to be open with her, as much as he can be, comforts, restores, and saves him.

Dom and other members of the club participate in and perpetrate violence with some regularity, but this violence is meant to serve justice—protecting the innocent, redistributing unequal wealth, and punishing those who victimize others. Dom and the other club members embrace the view that violence can be justified when it serves to safeguard vulnerable people, but the chaotic and tragic conclusion suggests that those who appoint themselves arbiters of justice risk perpetuating the same brutality they claim to oppose.

Dom justifies his violent behavior as a means of protecting the innocent and avenging victims, but his violence is often cathartic—a means of dealing with his own anger as much as of serving anyone else. For example, he goes to the gas station to check on Zach, and when he sees that Tim stole the items Dom gave Zach and abused him, Dom responds to Tim with violence. He wraps his hands around Tim’s throat the way Tim did to his 11-year-old son, vowing, “If you abuse him again in any way, I will fucking kill you” (140). Zach is too scared of his father and too powerless to protect himself, so Dom uses violence against Tim to protect Zach against further violence from Tim. Another example occurs when Dom kills the man he calls “the fly,” who was planning to launch an attack on families gathered for a holiday fireworks display. On one hand, Dom feels wretched, and says, “‘I killed a twenty-year-old kid.’ The confession feels ripped from me as I say it out loud for the first time” (282). However, Sean points out that he “‘stopped an imminent mass murder. Denny unloaded [the man’s] backpack, and it was fucking horrifying […]. There’s no telling how many lives you saved’” (281-282). This example illustrates the moral ambiguity of Dom’s self-appointed role as protector of the innocent. Though Sean points out that Dom’s killing of this young man may have been necessary to prevent hundreds more deaths, this reasoning does not assuage the guilt Dom feels for cutting short a young life.

Dom’s vigilantism places him in an ethical bind: If he chooses violence, he sometimes grapples with guilt and shame over who he has become. However, if he doesn’t choose violence—such as when Tobias prevents him from pursuing the human traffickers—then he feels equally guilty for having failed to protect victims. Reckoning with all he must keep to himself, he says, “It feels like nothing short of bloodletting as I allowed it all in. All of my failures in the last few months and the guilt that multiplies daily because I can’t get them all” (284). He knows that many wealthy and powerful people escape consequences for their harmful or illegal actions, but by making himself responsible for correcting all the evil in the world, he perpetuates a cycle of violence and guilt.