Chapter 5 - The Resurrection of the Past
"Explain," Dominic growled, closing the distance between them until he towered over her, his chest heaving with a mixture of fury and disbelief. "Explain right now, or I swear to God..."
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Elena cut him off, her gaze never wavering from his. "You've been hunting ghosts for fourteen months, Dominic, while the man pulling your strings has been sitting at your right hand every single Tuesday night sharing scotch and cigars in your private study."
Dominic froze. The words hung in the suffocating air of the gallery like a death sentence.
Every single Tuesday night.
Vincent Moretti.
His consigliere. The man who had helped him build the Romano syndicate from a two-bit crew of dock thieves into a multi-million-dollar empire. The man who had held Dominic’s hand at Isabelle’s funeral, whispered words of condolence, and promised to find the bastards who did it.
"Vincent," Dominic whispered, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
"Vincent," Elena confirmed, stepping past him to look into the hidden alcove. She picked up the printed photograph of Isabelle from the console. "When I found out what the syndicate was planning—when I discovered that Vincent was cutting a deal with the Russian Bratva to usurp your territory and restructure the entire organization—I tried to warn Isabelle. She was the only one who had a conscience left in your life."
Dominic felt the room spinning. "You warned her?"
"I tried," Elena said, her voice cracking slightly with suppressed grief. "I met her in the parking lot of the Garden City preschool three days before she died. We talked in her car. She told me she was going to pack the girls, take your hidden ledger from the wall safe, and go to the FBI. She begged me to help her disappear."
Dominic stared at her, the pieces of a horrific puzzle snapping into place with sickening clarity. "And Vincent found out."
"Vincent had bugs planted everywhere," Elena said, gesturing to the hidden surveillance room. "He knew every move you made, every move she made. He ordered the hit to look like a mob assassination, warning you that if you dug too deep into rival syndicates, you'd tear your own empire apart. He kept you blind, angry, and isolated."
"And you?" Dominic asked, his voice shaking with a cold, terrifying fury. "Why come back as a housekeeper? Why not come straight to me?"
Elena turned to face him fully, her eyes blazing with an intensity that matched his own. "Because if I had walked into your office six years ago and told you Vincent Moretti betrayed you, you would have laughed me out of the room. You trusted him more than your own blood. To get close to the truth, to protect those little girls while you were out playing war with the wrong enemies, I had to become invisible."
She pointed down the hallway toward the library. "And unlike you, I didn't try to buy their trauma away with toys and therapists. I sat on the floor. I listened to them sing. I gave them a safe space where they knew the monsters couldn't reach them."
Dominic looked back toward the hidden room, then down the hall toward his daughters. A dark, absolute resolve settled over his features—the terrifying, ruthless calm of a predator who had just found the wolf inside his own fold.
"Where is Vincent right now?" Dominic asked softly.
Elena walked over to the console, tapped a key on the glowing keyboard, and pulled up a live GPS tracking log overlaid on a digital map of Long Island.
"He's currently at the private club in Manhattan," Elena said with a cold smile. "Hosting a poker game with your top capos. Toasting to your continued... distraction."
Dominic reached down, picked up his heavy wool overcoat, and slid his arms into the sleeves. He pulled the Sig Sauer from its holster, checked the magazine with a practiced, mechanical click, and tucked it securely back against his chest.
"Stay here with the girls," Dominic commanded, his voice dead flat, carrying the full, terrifying weight of the Romano syndicate.
"I'm coming with you," Elena said, reaching behind her back to pull a sleek, suppressed Walther PPK from the waistband of her skirt.
May you like
Dominic looked at her for a long, silent moment. Then, for the first time in fourteen months, the corner of his mouth ticked upward in a grim, dangerous smile.
"Let's go home, Elena."
