Chapter 4 - The Shadow of Dominic Vance
The silence that followed Elena’s declaration was so absolute it felt like the air had been sucked completely out of the master suite.
“Dead,” I repeated, the single word feeling like a heavy iron ball lodged in my windpipe. I grabbed the heavy oak bedpost so hard my knuckles turned stark white. “You expect me to believe that after three years of mourning a ghost, I suddenly have a sister-in-law sitting in my bed telling me my wife faked her death, bore another child, and that child is now dead?”
“Believe whatever helps you sleep at night, Alessandro,” Elena spat back, her voice dripping with exhaustion and bitter grief. “You think you’re the most dangerous man in New York? You think your little syndicate makes you a king? You’re playing checkers while our uncle has been playing chess with your life since the day you married my sister.”
Marco stepped closer, his tactical training overriding his shock. “Boss, we need names. We need locations. If there’s an old-world faction moving into our territory—especially one tied to the Vance name—we need to strike first.”
“You can’t strike a ghost,” Elena muttered, sinking back against the pillows, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “Salvatore Vance doesn’t operate out of abandoned warehouses or public docks. He owns senators, judges, and half the federal banking board in Zurich. He let you play king of New York because it suited his grand design. But when Isabella defied him by running away with you... he made a vow to wipe every single drop of Moretti blood off the map.”
“Why tell me now?” I demanded, leaning over her, my shadow swallowing her small frame. “If you’ve been hiding for three years, why crawl to my doorstep during a blizzard and hand my daughter a cookie?”
Elena turned her head slowly on the pillow. Her eyes, so achingly similar to Isabella’s, met mine without a trace of fear.
“Because my niece—your second daughter—was taken from me yesterday,” Elena whispered, a fresh tear spilling over her lashes. “Salvatore’s men tracked us to our safehouse in Boston. I barely escaped with my life. I came here because Lily deserves to know she has family left... and because you’re the only monster mean enough to tear Salvatore’s empire down to the studs.”
Before I could demand more answers, a sharp, frantic rap sounded at the bedroom door.
The heavy oak panel swung open before I could give permission. One of my lead tactical guards, a scarred veteran named Miller, rushed into the room, breathing heavily, snow still clinging to his tactical vest.
“Boss, we’ve got a Code Red,” Miller said urgently, casting a suspicious glance toward Elena before looking back at me.
“Speak, Miller,” I barked.
“The perimeter sensors on the eastern gate just tripped. It’s not a rival gang, and it’s not local police. Our satellite feed shows three black unmarked armored vans breaching the private access road from the highway. They bypassed our digital jammers like they had the encryption keys.”
Marco’s hand instantly flew to his holster. “How is that possible? Our network is military-grade!”
“Because,” a cold, synthesized voice suddenly echoed through the master suite’s intercom system.
We all froze.
The wall-mounted digital control panel near the door flickered, bypassing our internal security protocols. A live video feed popped up on the high-definition display.
A silver-haired man in an expensive tailored tuxedo sat in the back of a luxury town car, swirling a glass of amber scotch. His face was weathered by age, but his eyes radiated a cruel, terrifying intelligence.
“Hello, nephew,” Salvatore Vance’s voice purred smoothly through the speakers. “I see you’ve finally taken in my wayward niece. How very hospitable of you.”
I stared at the screen, every muscle in my body locking into a predator’s stance.
“Salvatore,” I growled, my voice vibrating with lethal intent. “You’ve got a lot of nerve stepping foot in my territory.”
“Your territory?” Salvatore chuckled softly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. “Alessandro, my dear boy, you are sitting on land I leased before your father learned how to hold a pistol. Now, let’s stop wasting time in the cold. Send Elena and the little girl out to the front gates in five minutes. Do that, and I might let you and your little syndicate walk away with your lives.”
“And if I refuse?” I asked, my fingers curling into a tight fist.
The screen flickered. The camera angle shifted to show a live feed of the lower courtyard.
My breath caught in my throat.
May you like
Standing in the center of the snowy courtyard, surrounded by half a dozen heavily armed mercenaries in tactical gear, was Lily. She was clutching her stuffed rabbit tightly, looking confused and terrified as a masked gunman held a silenced pistol gently against her temple.
“If you refuse,” Salvatore smiled coldly from the screen, “your bloodline ends tonight.”
