Chapter 11 - The Confession of the Last Heir
Down in the subterranean holding facility, the air smelled of damp concrete and cold steel.
Leo Vance regained consciousness with a sharp gasp, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor. He tried to move his arms, but found himself securely cuffed to an iron ring bolted directly into the center of the interrogation table.
Dominic sat across from him in a straight-backed metal chair, slowly cleaning the knuckles of his right hand with a white linen handkerchief. Marco stood silently in the shadows near the heavy exit door.
"You're late, Leo," Dominic said quietly, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates. "Your cousin Arthur spent three months trying to tear down my house from the inside. I expected a bit more creativity from the second generation."
Leo glared up at him, a defiant, bloodied sneer twisting his lips. "You think you won, Moretti? You think cutting off Arthur and me stops what’s coming? The Morello syndicate has been planting roots in Manhattan while you were busy playing domestic kingpin in Westchester."
Dominic didn't flinch. He slowly folded the handkerchief and laid it on the table. "The Morellos are a ghost story. My father buried them in ninety-eight."
"Ghosts come back when you leave the crypt open," Leo laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "You spent all your time watching the front gates, worrying about poison in a birthday cake, while we bought out half the municipal zoning board. The entire northern shipping corridor is tied up in federal injunctions as of this morning. Your docks are frozen."
Marco stepped forward, checking his tablet. "Boss... he's not bluffing. Just got an alert from our legal liaison in the city. A federal judge in the Southern District just slapped an emergency seizure order on Pier 41."
Dominic’s expression remained ice-cold, though a dangerous fire flickered in the depths of his dark eyes. "On what grounds?"
"Environmental contamination," Leo mocked, his voice dripping with venom. "Brought forward by a shell company backed by the Morello estate. Your ships aren't moving anywhere, Dominic. Your empire is bleeding out, and you're sitting in a nursery playing house."
Dominic slowly stood up. He walked around the table until he was standing directly over Leo, towering above him like an executioner.
"You assume my empire depends on paper, Leo," Dominic whispered, his voice dropping an octave into a register of absolute, terrifying calm. "You assume because I chose to live in the light for my son that I forgot how to rule the dark."
He looked toward Marco. "Take him to the northern safehouse. Lock him in the basement and don't let him see the sun until he gives me the names of every single judge on the Morello payroll."
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"Understood, boss," Marco said, hauling Leo to his feet with brutal efficiency.
As the heavy metal door slammed shut, echoing through the empty corridors, Dominic stood alone in the dim light, staring down at the concrete floor. The war had changed its shape, but it was far from over.
