Chapter 5 - The Trial of Blood and Truth
The storm outside had turned into a torrential downpour as three black armored SUVs tore down the highway toward the industrial docks of New Jersey.
Inside the lead vehicle sat Dominic Vance. Beside him sat Nikolai and six heavily armed tactical operatives.
For six months, Dominic had played a defensive game, protecting his empire through diplomacy and legal maneuvers. But tonight, Thomas Rostov had committed the ultimate sin: he had invaded Dominic's home, terrified his daughter, and put hands on Eleanor Hayes.
There would be no diplomacy tonight.
At 2:00 AM, the convoy smashed through the perimeter gates of St. Jude’s Logistics Warehouse at the edge of Pier 14.
BOOM!
The main steel doors of the warehouse were blown off their hinges by breaching charges.
Dominic’s operatives flooded the massive facility, flashbang grenades blinding Rostov's guards as disciplined, lethal gunfire swept through the catwalks.
Dominic walked through the smoke like a dark god of vengeance. He held his weapon steady, moving with terrifying, practiced precision.
Within ten minutes, twenty of Rostov's mercenaries lay neutralized on the concrete floor.
In the central glass office overlooking the shipping docks, Thomas Rostov—a balding, heavily built man in a fur-trimmed coat—was frantically stuffing stacks of bearer bonds and foreign passports into a leather duffel bag.
The office door was kicked clean off its frame.
Rostov spun around, pulling a silver revolver from his desk drawer.
Before he could raise it, Dominic stepped into the room, grabbed Rostov’s wrist with bone-cracking force, twisted it back, and slammed Rostov’s head violently down onto the mahogany desk!
CRACK!
Blood sprayed across the polished wood. The silver revolver clattered uselessly to the floor.
Dominic didn't fire his weapon. He simply held Rostov pinned against the desk with one broad hand around the man's neck, squeezing just enough to cut off his air supply.
"Dominic... please..." Rostov choked out, his face turning dark red, his eyes bulging with terror. "It was... it was business... just business..."
Dominic leaned down, his gray eyes burning with an icy, demonic fury that made Rostov’s knees give out.
"Six months ago," Dominic whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute malice, "you murdered an innocent accountant named Marcus Hayes. You framed his reputation, you terrorized his widow, and you tried to steal his land."
Rostov gasped for breath, tears of panic spilling down his cheeks. "I'll give you... I'll give you the land! I'll give you ten million dollars!"
"Three weeks ago," Dominic continued, ignoring the plea, "you ordered my four-year-old daughter dumped in a trash bin like garbage. And tonight... you put hands on the woman I love."
Dominic reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a thick manila folder compiled by his legal team and federal contacts. He tossed it beside Rostov's bleeding face.
"Inside that folder is complete evidence of your human trafficking networks, your wire frauds, and the poison analysis proving you murdered Marcus Hayes," Dominic said flatly. "Federal marshals and state police are currently sitting outside this dock."
Rostov blinked through his blood and sweat. "You're... you're handing me to the feds?"
Dominic smiled—a cold, terrifying smile that sent shivers down Rostov's spine.
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"The feds will give you life without parole in a maximum-security facility, Thomas," Dominic murmured, releasing his neck and stepping back. "And every single day you spend in that cell... my men on the inside will make sure you remember the name Marcus Hayes."
Dominic turned his back on the ruined mobster, walking out of the office into the cool night air as federal sirens echoed across the harbor.
