710 "The Mafia Boss Installed Cameras for His Disabled Twin, but the Plus-Size Housekeeper Did What He Had Feared for Seven Years

The aftermath of the attack turned the Vale mansion into a fortress on lockdown. Victor’s bold strike had failed, leaving eight of his best mercenaries dead. But the message was clear: total war had been declared within the Vale syndicate.

Dominic sat in his war room downstairs, surrounded by heavily armed guards and tactical maps. Beside him, surprisingly, sat Grace. He had invited her to the strategy session, realizing that her observational skills were sharper than those of most of his intelligence operatives.

"Victor knew the exact blind spot of our perimeter sensors at 2:00 AM," Dominic said, staring at the blueprints. "He had inside help. Someone in this house fed him the coordinates."

"It wasn't Calvin," Grace stated flatly, sipping a mug of dark roast coffee.

Dominic raised an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure?"

"Calvin loves his rules, but more than that, he loves order," Grace explained, leaning over the map. "A traitor introduces chaos. Besides, I watched Calvin during the breach. He covered the retreat of the junior kitchen staff before he even loaded his weapon. Traitors don't protect the dishwasher."

Dominic couldn't help a faint smile from playing on his lips. She saw the world not through paranoia, but through human nature. "Then who?"

"Look at the delivery logs," Grace suggested, pointing a finger at the iPad on the desk. "The only person who had access to the east wing courtyard sensors last week was the contractor who came to fix the heating vents. The one recommended by your third-in-command, Marcus."

Dominic’s eyes narrowed into slits of ice. Marcus. His trusted lieutenant who controlled the South Side operations—the very same district where Victor’s shell companies operated.

Upstairs, Julian was not resting. Inspired by the adrenaline and the terrible clarity of the attack, he was typing furiously. His manuscript was no longer just a fictional detective story; it had morphed into a coded key—a detailed breakdown of his uncle’s money-laundering network that Julian had secretly memorized seven years ago before his crash.

When Grace returned to his room that evening, Julian handed her a thick stack of ninety pages.

"Give this... to Dominic," Julian said, his voice stronger now, though still deep and gravelly. "It is Victor's... foundation. Pull the bottom brick... and he collapses."