Chapter 4 - THE SHADOWS OF RETRIBUTIONIn the pitch black of the mansion,
Dominic moved with the silence of a predator who had spent his youth in the alleys of South Boston.
He didn't need the light.
He knew every inch of this estate because he had designed it as a fortress.
He heard Nathan’s frantic breathing,
the sound of boots scuffing against the marble as his "brother" scrambled for a position.
Upstairs,
he heard Claire’s muffled scream as the power cut out.
She was a creature of the light,
of high-society galas and polished surfaces.
The darkness was Dominic’s domain.
"You think a blackout is going to save you?"
Nathan’s voice echoed through the hall,
laced with a growing edge of panic.
"I have twenty men outside!"
"As soon as they see the lights go out,"
"they’ll storm this place!"
Dominic didn't respond.
He was already behind the heavy velvet curtains of the dining room.
He watched as the silhouettes of the men outside moved toward the doors.
But they didn't enter.
One by one,
the shadows in the yard were pulled into the treeline.
There were no gunshots.
Only the rhythmic,
metallic click of silenced barrels and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the frozen ground.
Dominic hadn't just brought his own guards back from Atlantic City.
He had brought a mercenary team from the city’s underbelly,
men who owed him favors that money couldn't buy.
The men Nathan thought he had bought were already dead or incapacitated.
Dominic stepped out of the shadows,
a few feet away from Nathan,
who was now spinning in circles,
his gun pointed at nothing.
"You forgot the first rule of this business,
Nathan,"
Dominic said,
his voice appearing to come from everywhere at once.
"Never assume you’re the smartest person in the room just because you’re the one holding the ledger."
"Dominic!
Wait!"
Nathan cried,
dropping his weapon as he realized the silence outside was absolute.
"We can talk about this!"
"I can give you the money back!"
"I did it for us!"
"To make the Vale name stronger!"
Dominic emerged from the gloom,
the moonlight through the high windows catching the edge of his blade.
"You did it for yourself,"
Dominic corrected him.
"And you used a child’s mother as a pawn."
"That’s not business,
Nathan."
"That’s a personal insult."
With a movement faster than Nathan could track,
Dominic closed the distance.
He didn't use the gun.
He wanted to feel the weight of the betrayal as he ended it.
The struggle was brief,
a desperate flurry of movement in the dark,
ending with the sound of a heavy body slumped against the base of the staircase.
Nathan Cross,
the man who would be king,
gasped his last breath on the marble he had tried to steal.
Dominic stood over him for a moment,
feeling no triumph,
only a hollow,
aching tiredness.
He wiped the blade on his trousers and turned his attention toward the stairs.
He still had one more ghost to exorcise.
Claire was huddled in the corner of the master suite,
her silk robe torn,
her face a mask of pure terror as she saw him standing in the doorway.
"Dominic,
please,"
she sobbed.
"He forced me!"
"Nathan said he would kill me if I didn't help him!"
Dominic looked at her and saw the same woman who had laughed while a maid starved beneath her feet.
"The police are on their way,
Claire."
"I’ve already sent them the recordings from the cellar."
"And the ledger."
"You’re not going to die,"
May you like
"but you are going to spend the rest of your life in a place much smaller than that wine cellar."
"A place where no one cares about the vintage of your wine."
