Chapter 2 - THE SILENCE OF THE DEAD
Dominic didn’t answer Tony’s question immediately. He simply stared at the blank screen, the silence in the basement thickening until it felt heavy enough to choke on. The air tasted of dust and cold copper. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of Marcus standing at his right shoulder, a shadow Dominic had believed to be an extension of himself. And Serena—the woman who had learned the exact rhythm of his breathing in the dark, the woman whose ring cost more than a small island.
“No,” Dominic finally whispered, his voice dangerously devoid of emotion. “I don’t want you to say anything, Tony. I want you to listen.”
Tony leaned back, his aged eyes locking onto Dominic’s. He knew that tone. It was the same tone Dominic’s father had used right before a rival family vanished from the map in a single, bloody night.
“We feed them,” Dominic said, stepping away from the desk. “We feed them a banquet of lies. If Marcus wants the shipment routes, we give him routes. But not the real ones. We give him the ghost routes. The ones the Feds have been heavily surveilling since October.”
Tony nodded slowly, a grim smile playing on his lips. “You want to lead Marcus right into the arms of the DEA?”
“No,” Dominic corrected, his gaze turning to ice. “The DEA is too good for him. I want Marcus to think he has the upper hand. I want him to gather all his loyalists—every rat hiding in my house—and bring them to Pier Forty-Seven on Thursday. And when they realize the shipment isn’t guns and cash, but me... I’m going to watch the hope drain out of his eyes.”
But before the war began, Dominic had to secure his only true asset in this twisted game. The little girl.
He left Tony in the basement and walked back up to the main house. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long, bleeding streaks of orange across the marble floors. He found Mrs. Eleanor, the head housekeeper, in the kitchen.
“The little girl,” Dominic said, startling the older woman. “The one in the yellow dress. Who is she?”
Mrs. Eleanor paled, wiping her hands nervously on her apron. “That’s Mia, sir. Her mother was Maria, one of the maids. Maria passed away two months ago... I didn’t have the heart to send the child to an orphanage. I’ve been keeping her out of sight, making her earn her keep. Please, Mr. Russo, she meant no harm—”
“Pack her things,” Dominic interrupted.
Mrs. Eleanor gasped, tears welling in her eyes. “Please, sir—”
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“Pack her things, Mrs. Eleanor. You’re taking her to the safe house in Vermont. Today. You will stay with her. You will both be provided for, and she is never to touch a dust rag again. Do you understand?”
The housekeeper stared at the mafia boss, utterly bewildered, before nodding frantically. Dominic walked away. Innocence was a liability in his world, but Mia had saved his life. He would not let her pay for his sins.
