Chapter 3 - The Confession of Sal CostaBy 3:00 AM, the lights in the Ramos estate were still blazing.
Dominic sat behind the massive mahogany desk in his private office, a bottle of un-poured scotch sitting untouched between his hands. The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers.
The heavy oak door swung open without a knock.
Sal Costa walked in, buttoning his jacket, looking around the darkened room with a knowing smirk. “Still awake, Boss? I figured you’d be celebrating. The Martin girl is locked in the north suite, your guards are watching every exit, and the entire city knows the Ramos family has total control of the harbor.”
Dominic did not look up.
“Sal,” Dominic said quietly.
“Yeah, Dom?”
“Tell me about Whitewood.”
Sal’s smirk vanished instantly. The color drained from his weathered face, and his hand twitched toward the shoulder holster beneath his armpit.
“Whitewood? That... that was an old job, Dom. Four years ago. Before the truce.”
“Who ordered it?” Dominic asked, his voice dead, flat, and terrifyingly calm.
“Your old man,” Sal muttered, looking toward the floor. “Salvatore. He wanted to hit Arthur Martin where it hurt. We didn't know the girl was inside. By the time the flames took hold, it was too late to pull back without blowing our cover.”
Dominic slowly raised his head. His dark eyes locked onto Sal with a murderous intensity that made the veteran underboss take an involuntary step backward.
“My father told me the Martins killed my sister,” Dominic said, each word falling like an iron weight. “He swore on his mother’s grave that Maria’s car bomb was planted by Arthur Martin’s personal driver.”
Sal swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Dom... you gotta understand—”
“Did Arthur Martin kill my sister?” Dominic demanded, standing up so fast his chair crashed backward onto the wooden floor.
Sal flinched. He looked at Dominic, saw the raw, terrifying fury burning in his eyes, and realized the lie could no longer hold.
“... No,” Sal whispered, closing his eyes. “It wasn't the Martins. It was a rival crew from Providence trying to start a turf war. Your father knew two days after the bombing. But... but by then, the war with the Martins was already making us millions in contraband routes. He... he used your sister’s death to justify taking their docks.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Dominic didn't yell. He didn't smash a glass.
He walked around the desk, his movements slow and deliberate, and before Sal could react, Dominic’s fist crashed into his jaw with the force of a falling beam.
Sal collapsed against the bookshelf, sliding down to the floor with a groan, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth.
“Get out,” Dominic whispered, standing over him. “Get out of my house, and if you ever breath another word in this city, I will dig a hole so deep the tide won't even reach you.”
May you like
Sal scrambled to his feet and bolted out the door into the night.
Dominic stood alone in the dark office, trembling. He had built an empire on a lie. He had destroyed families, murdered men, and married a broken, scarred woman—all to avenge a ghost his father had invented.
Related Stories
