Chapter 3 - The Traitor’s Web
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
“No,” I gasped, standing up so fast the tea cup overturned, splashing dark liquid onto the polished mahogany table. “No! My mother died four years ago in Saint Anthony’s Hospital! She was a laundry worker! She didn't have bank accounts! She didn't know anything about mafia shipping ports!”
Dominic didn't get angry. He stood up slowly, stepping around the table until he was standing right in front of me.
“I know, Lena,” he said gently, reaching out to catch my trembling hand in his. His touch was unexpectedly warm, firm, and grounding. “I ran your mother’s death certificate and tax records thirty minutes ago. She was innocent. She lived a humble, honest life trying to keep you safe.”
“Then why is her name on those records?” I sobbed, looking up into his dark, sharp face. “Why did Angelo die with my picture?!”
“Because someone used your mother’s stolen identity to set up a dummy corporation,” Dominic explained, his thumb softly tracing the back of my hand. “Whoever planted that account knew Angelo was investigating the leaks. They knew Angelo was my brother. And they knew that if Angelo found a link to Clara Hart, he would follow it blindly.”
He looked down at the polaroid on the table.
“Angelo found this photo in our father’s old vault last month,” Dominic added. “He knew how much you meant to me when I was a boy. He was trying to find you to surprise me for my birthday. But whoever lured him into that alley tonight used your name as the bait.”
A dark, icy wave of horror washed over me.
“The phone call...” I breathed. “The caller told Angelo that Lena Hart was being held in the 4th Street alley...”
“And when Angelo ran into that alley to save you,” Dominic finished, his eyes burning with an apocalyptic wrath, “they executed him from the rooftops. Then they tipped off my security team that a waitress from Mabel’s Diner was seen running from the scene, knowing my men would bring you to me.”
He gripped my hand tighter, his voice dropping into a lethal, low murmur.
“They didn't just kill my brother, Lena. They framed you so that I would execute you myself in a fit of rage—destroying the last piece of my childhood and starting a war with the Valentis that would tear my empire apart from the inside.”
A sudden knock thunderously rattled the heavy oak door of the suite.
Pike, Dominic’s second-in-command, stepped into the room without waiting for permission. His coat was damp, his face tense, and his hand rested firmly on the holster at his hip.
“Don Dominic,” Pike announced crisply. “The capos are assembling in the Great Hall. Capo Moretti and Capo Vance are demanding to see the girl. They say the South Side is mobilizing, and if we don't execute the suspect and retaliate against the Valentis by sunrise, the family will vote to strip your leadership.”
Dominic slowly turned to face Pike. His expression smoothed into an unreadable, terrifying mask of absolute authority.
“Is that so?” Dominic asked softly.
“Yes, Don Dominic,” Pike said, his eyes flicking briefly toward me with a cold, unreadable glare. “Moretti says you’re letting personal grief cloud your judgment over a dirty diner waitress.”
Dominic walked toward the door, stopping inches from Pike’s shoulder.
“Tell Moretti and Vance to sit down and keep their mouths shut,” Dominic commanded smoothly. “I will be down in five minutes. And Pike?”
“Yes, Boss?”
“If you ever refer to her as a 'dirty diner waitress' in my presence again,” Dominic whispered, “I will feed your tongue to the guard dogs in the courtyard. Do you understand me?”
Pike went pale, bowing his head quickly. “Understood, Don Dominic.”
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Dominic turned back to me, holding out his hand.
“Come with me, Lena,” he said, his gray eyes locking onto mine with absolute, unyielding protection. “It’s time to show my capos who you really are.”
