Chapter 4 - The Boardroom of Vipers
The Great Hall of the Costa estate was bathed in the harsh, cold glare of three massive crystal chandeliers.
A long, black granite table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by twelve senior capos—hardened men in expensive tailored suits, their faces lined with scars, greed, and ruthless ambition. At the head of the table sat Capo Moretti, an elderly, heavy-set man with silver hair and a permanent sneer, flanked by Capo Vance, a younger, sharp-eyed lieutenant who controlled the syndicate’s distribution docks.
When the double doors opened, conversation died instantly.
Dominic walked into the room, tall, broad, and imposing. But what made every capo in the room freeze was the woman walking beside him.
I walked by Dominic’s side, my chin held high despite the terror clawing at my chest. I wore a dark green silk blouse and black tailored trousers provided by the estate. My dark hair was brushed back, revealing the pale, crescent-shaped scar above my left brow.
Dominic guided me to the chair directly at his right hand—the seat traditionally reserved for the Underboss.
“Dominic!” Capo Moretti barked, slamming his fist onto the granite table. “What is the meaning of this?! That girl was brought here in cuffs! Her clothes were covered in Angelo’s blood neighborhood! Why isn't she in the basement being questioned?!”
Capo Vance leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into slits as he looked at me. “We have three hundred soldiers waiting for the order to strike the Valenti territory, Don Dominic! Every minute you spend playing warden to a stray waitress makes the Costa family look weak!”
Dominic sat down at the head of the table. He leaned back, resting his hands loosely on the carved armrests.
“Angelo was ambushed,” Dominic said, his voice carrying clearly to every corner of the vast room. “He was shot three times with a high-caliber silenced rifle from an elevated position seventy yards away.”
He looked at Moretti.
“Lena Hart works twelve-hour shifts carrying soup trays,” Dominic continued softly. “She doesn't own a rifle. She doesn't know how to calculate wind resistance at seventy yards. And she was standing in front of Mabel’s Diner when the shots were fired, as verified by four independent street witnesses my private team spoke to twenty minutes ago.”
Moretti scoffed loudly. “So she was the lookout! She led him there!”
“She didn't lead him anywhere,” Dominic snapped, his voice dropping into a deadly, vibrating register that made the room’s temperature seem to drop five degrees. “Angelo was lured there by a fake tip using the name of Clara Hart—a name linked to a compromised offshore account at our North Docks.”
Dominic stood up, placing both hands flat on the granite table, looming over his lieutenants like a dark shadow.
“The account was opened four months ago,” Dominic said smoothly. “Only three people in this room had the clearance to approve off-book shipping accounts at the North Docks without my personal signature.”
Silence descended upon the table, heavy and suffocating.
I watched the capos’ faces carefully. Most looked confused or alarmed. But near the end of the table, Capo Vance’s fingers twitched against his water glass. His right jaw muscle tightened imperceptibly.
“Are you suggesting one of us is a traitor, Don Dominic?” Vance asked, his voice overly calm, almost mocking. “You’re taking the word of a homeless orphan over your own captains?”
Dominic walked slowly down the length of the table, stopping directly behind Vance’s chair.
“I’m not taking her word, Vance,” Dominic whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from Vance’s ear. “I’m taking my brother’s word. Before Angelo went into that alley, he backed up his phone records to my private server. The IP address that authorized the use of Clara Hart’s name came from a terminal inside the Vance Logistics building.”
Vance’s face turned gray. He reached violently toward his inner jacket pocket!
“Guns on the table!” Dominic roared!
Before Vance could pull his weapon, Dominic grabbed Vance’s hair, slamming his face down onto the hard granite table with a sickening CRACK! Blood sprayed across the white linen napkins!
Pike and three guards instantly drew their weapons, pointing them straight at Vance’s men, who froze with their hands lifted!
“Search his office!” Dominic commanded, holding Vance down against the table with one hand while the treacherous capo groaned in pain. “Find every drive, every ledger, and bring the offshore encryption keys to my study!”
Vance spat blood onto the granite, laughing maniacally through his broken nose.
“You’re too late, Dominic!” Vance wheezed, his eyes wild with malice. “The Valentis already have the coordinates to your private armory! They know you’re fractured! By sunrise, the South Side will burn everything you own—and you’ll die protecting that worthless girl just like your father died in Oakhaven!”
Dominic leaned closer, his eyes cold as absolute zero.
“My father died in the dark, Vance,” Dominic whispered softly. “I rule in the light.”
Dominic nodded to Pike. “Take him to the basement. Don't kill him until he gives up every Valenti contact in the city.”
As Vance was dragged out of the room, screaming curses that echoed off the high marble walls, Dominic turned back to the remaining capos.
They were all standing now, bowing their heads in terrified, absolute submission.
May you like
Dominic walked back to my side, reaching down to take my hand, pulling me up to stand beside him at the head of the table.
“Listen to me carefully,” Dominic boomed to his empire. “Lena Hart is under my personal protection. She is not a suspect. She is the memory of my past, and she is the future of this house. Anyone who looks at her with disrespect will answer to my blade. Dismissed.”
