Chapter 5 - The War for the Heir
The grand entrance hall of the Vale estate became a kill zone within three minutes.
The heavy oak front doors had been blown off their hinges by a C4 charge, allowing a dozen heavily armed men in black tactical gear to pour into the foyer. Dominic’s security team fired down from the grand balcony, muzzle flashes illuminating the dark marble pillars like terrifying strobes.
Dominic stood at the top of the staircase, his expression entirely calm, his gun picking off targets with lethal precision. He had spent his whole life preparing for this night. He had thought he was fighting for turf, for money, for the legacy of the Vale name.
But as he heard the faint, muffled cries of Sophie from the basement below, he realized he was fighting for something entirely different. He was fighting for the innocent life his father had entrusted to him. He was fighting for the woman who had dared to look him in the eye and tell him he was more than a monster.
"Vale!"
A voice boomed from the shattered doorway. Victor Marcone walked into the foyer, flanked by four massive bodyguards holding ballistic shields. Marcone was an older man, his hair silver, his face marred by a long scar running from his ear to his jawline. His eyes were wild, frantic, and filled with a desperate, manic energy.
"Give me the girl, Dominic!" Marcone screamed over the sound of gunfire. "She belongs to me! She’s my blood! Vincent stole her from me! He let my wife die, and he took my daughter!"
"Your wife died of cancer, Victor!" Dominic shouted back, ducking behind a marble balustrade as a volley of bullets chipped the stone above his head. "And Danielle fled from you because you’re a butcher! She chose to leave her child in a warehouse in Dorchester rather than let her spend a single day under your roof!"
"She’s a Marcone!" Victor roared. "She is the only thing I have left! I will burn this entire city to the ground to take her back!"
"Then you’ll burn with it," Dominic said coldly.
Dominic reached into his vest and pulled out a remote detonator. He had rigged the support pillars of the front portico hours ago when Noah first reported Marcone's movements. With a single press of his thumb, the outer columns exploded, sending tons of solid granite crashing down into the entryway, completely cutting off Marcone’s reinforcements outside and trapping the remaining gunmen inside the foyer.
The distraction gave Dominic’s men the upper hand. Within seconds, the remaining tactical shooters were neutralized.
Dominic walked slowly down the shattered staircase, his gun raised, his eyes locked on Victor Marcone, who was pinned beneath a fallen piece of the stone archway, his leg crushed, his weapon out of reach.
Marcone coughed, blood spilling from his lips, but his gaze remained fiercely defiant. "Go ahead, Vale. Kill me. But my people know she’s here. The Commission will never let a Vale keep a Marcone heir. The war won't end with me."
"The war ends exactly where I say it ends," Dominic said, stopping right in front of the dying Don. He didn't pull the trigger. Instead, he pulled out his phone, dialing a number that only five people in the country possessed.
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"Director Vance," Dominic said when the FBI Special Agent in Charge answered the line. "I have Victor Marcone pinned at my residence on Beacon Hill. I have the original DNA records and birth certificates proving his connection to human trafficking, illegal weapons distribution, and the blind trust fraud of Starlight Shipping. Come pick up the trash."
Dominic ended the call and looked down at Marcone. "You aren't going to die a martyr, Victor. You’re going to die in a federal prison hospital, stripped of your name, your money, and your legacy. And your daughter will never even know your name."
