Chapter 6 - The Fall of the Shadow King
The mansion’s primary security alarm finally blared, its red emergency lights spinning violently through the corridors, painting the white marble walls in the color of fresh blood.
Dominic stood up slowly.
The shock, the betrayal, and the grief that had consumed him for three years burned away in a single, terrifying instant, leaving behind a cold, absolute monster.
He looked at his security chief, a tough, scarred veteran named Frank.
"Lock Mason in the basement vault," Dominic ordered, his voice dropping into a register so low and quiet it sent shivers down the spines of the men in the room. "Treat his injuries. He lives to testify."
"Yes, Don Dominic," Frank barked, hauling the groaning Mason off the floor.
Dominic turned to Ellie.
She had finally lowered the cast-iron skillet, resting it against her knee. Her hands were shaking now that the adrenaline was draining from her body, and a small cut on her forearm was dripping blood onto her white canvas apron.
Dominic walked over to her. The most feared man in Chicago lowered himself onto one knee in front of his sister's maid.
He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and gently pressed it against the cut on her arm.
"You saved my sister’s life, Eleanor," Dominic whispered, his slate-grey eyes shining with a strange, fierce reverence. "I called you a betrayal when you looked into my business. I threatened to fire you. And you saved everything I have."
Ellie looked down at the crime boss, wiping a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead.
"I told you, Mr. Moretti," Ellie gasped out, giving him a weary, faint smile. "Grief doesn't cancel responsibility. Now go get the man who put that boy up to this before he leaves your house."
Dominic stood up, his face hardening into pure iron. He checked the magazine of his Kimber .45, racked a round into the chamber with a loud, metallic clack, and looked at his four remaining loyal lieutenants.
"Victor is headed for the garage or the helipad," Dominic said coldly. "Seal every exit. Kill anyone who stands beside him."
They found Victor Salerno in the underground garage, throwing three heavy leather duffel bags packed with bearer bonds into the trunk of an armored Mercedes SUV.
The heavy steel garage doors were halfway open, revealing the blinding, swirling snowstorm outside.
"Leaving so soon, Victor?" Dominic’s voice echoed off the concrete walls of the garage.
Victor froze. He turned around slowly, holding a sleek silver submachine gun in his hands. His silver hair was disheveled for the first time in his life, his expensive suit stained with motor oil.
"Dominic," Victor said, his smooth voice finally cracking with desperation. "Listen to me! The feds are coming on Friday! I did this to save the capital! I was going to set up a new command structure in Miami for us!"
Dominic walked down the concrete ramp, his heavy leather shoes striking the floor with rhythmic, inevitable terror. He didn't take cover. He didn't raise his gun. He walked straight toward Victor through the red flashing emergency lights.
"You sent a boy with a knife into my paralyzed sister's room, Victor," Dominic said softly.
"She was a distraction!" Victor screamed, raising the submachine gun. "You became weak because of her! You stopped being a Don three years ago!"
Before Victor could squeeze the trigger, a loud, deafening roar shattered the air.
Dominic fired three shots from his Kimber .45 with terrifying speed and precision.
The first bullet struck Victor’s right shoulder, shattering the bone and sending the submachine gun clattering across the oily floor. The second bullet hit Victor’s left knee, dropping the old man onto his hands and knees in the cold slush.
Dominic walked up to him, stopping inches from where Victor lay panting and bleeding onto the concrete.
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Dominic didn't fire the third bullet into his head. He lowered the gun, looking down at his father's oldest friend with a look of profound, icy disgust.
"Death is too quick for you, Victor," Dominic said coldly. "Frank has already transferred the encrypted drive you stole to the FBI task force, along with a full confession from Mason. You spent thirty years terrified of prison. Now you're going to spend the rest of your life in a federal cell, knowing that a maid with a frying pan destroyed your entire life's work."
