Chapter 3 - THE ROMANO CONFESSION
The temperature in the dining room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
Dominic’s thumb slowly traced the faded black ink on the back of the photograph.
The Romanos cut the brakes.
Isabella’s maiden name. The family she belonged to. The rival syndicate that had supposedly made peace with the Carusos by offering Isabella’s hand in marriage.
For twenty-six years, Dominic had been told his childhood tragedy was a terrible accident. A blown tire on a rainy Chicago highway that had sent his father’s car rolling down an embankment, shattering a twelve-year-old boy’s spine.
Now, the ghost of his father was reaching out from the grave to tell him it was attempted murder.
“Dominic?” Isabella asked, her voice faltering slightly. She took a step toward the head of the table, her red gown shimmering. “What is it? What does the back of that picture say?”
Dominic didn't answer her. He didn't even look at her.
He turned to the heavy-set man standing near the grand double doors of the dining room—his chief enforcer, a man named Silas.
“Silas,” Dominic said, his voice frighteningly calm.
“Boss?” Silas stepped forward immediately.
“Lock the doors. No one leaves this room.”
A wave of panic rippled through the thirty guests. Chairs scraped against the marble floor as several influential businessmen instinctively shifted toward the exits. But Silas and four other armed men in tailored suits moved faster, sliding the heavy mahogany doors shut with a resounding, final thud.
The click of the deadbolts echoed like gunshots.
Isabella’s face drained of color. “Dominic, what are you doing? My father is sitting right there!”
She pointed toward the center of the table.
Victor Romano, Isabella’s father and the head of the Romano syndicate, sat perfectly still. He was a man in his late sixties, with slicked-back silver hair and eyes as cold and lifeless as polished slate. He hadn't touched his champagne.
“I know exactly where your father is sitting, Isabella,” Dominic said.
Dominic walked slowly around the edge of the table. The slight stiffness in his right leg—the leg Victor Romano had allegedly ruined twenty-six years ago—seemed more pronounced now, carrying the weight of a decades-old vendetta.
He stopped directly behind Victor’s chair.
Victor didn't turn around. He simply picked up his crystal water glass and took a slow, deliberate sip.
“Is there a problem, Dominic?” Victor asked smoothly. “You’re frightening the guests at my daughter’s engagement dinner.”
“My father’s handwriting,” Dominic said, dropping the photograph onto the pristine white tablecloth right in front of Victor’s plate. “He wrote it the day before he died. He put it in his private safe and gave the combination to the only woman in this house he trusted.”
Victor glanced down at the photograph. He saw the faded black ink.
Not a single muscle in the older man’s face twitched.
“A paranoid old man writing fairy tales before a heart attack took him,” Victor dismissed easily, waving a hand. “Your father made many enemies, Dominic. If he believed I cut the brakes on his car twenty-six years ago, why would he agree to a truce? Why would he bless this marriage between you and Isabella?”
“Because he didn't bless it,” Margaret’s frail voice rang out.
Everyone turned to the eighty-one-year-old woman sitting at the head of the table. Margaret was trembling, but her chin was held high. The sweet, grandmotherly demeanor was gone, replaced by the fierce loyalty of a woman who had protected the Caruso family for nearly four decades.
“Antonio never blessed this marriage,” Margaret said, gripping her wooden cane. “He told me the Romanos were extorting him. He told me they had found something at the shipping docks. Something that could destroy Dominic’s future. He agreed to the engagement to buy time.”
“Shut up, you senile old bat!” Isabella shrieked, her poised facade completely shattering. She lunged toward Margaret, raising her hand as if to slap the elderly woman.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I threw myself between Isabella and Margaret, catching Isabella’s wrist in mid-air.
“Don't you dare touch her,” I snapped, my heart pounding so hard I thought my chest would crack open.
Isabella glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. “I am going to destroy your father for this, Kate. His pension is gone. His house is gone. You’re both going to end up on the street.”
Dominic reached out, his massive hand wrapping around Isabella’s forearm. He ripped her away from me, shoving her backward so hard she stumbled and fell into an empty chair.
“Don't you ever speak to my staff like that again,” Dominic roared, the calm veneer finally cracking. He turned his burning eyes on Victor. “What did you find at the docks, Victor? What did you use to extort my father into selling me to your daughter?”
Victor Romano finally stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket casually, looking around the locked dining room.
“Your father was a fool, Dominic,” Victor said coldly. “He spent his whole life trying to legitimize the Caruso empire. He wanted to go clean. He bought those massive shipping ports on the East Side, trying to turn them into a legal import business. But he missed one small detail.”
Victor smiled—a cruel, shark-like grin.
“Twenty-six years ago, the night of your little car accident, my men didn't just cut his brakes. We planted three shipping containers full of unregistered, military-grade weapons in his East Side port under a shell company in his name. We kept the shipping manifest. If that manifest goes to the feds, the Caruso empire is seized. Everything you own is gone.”
The room erupted into frantic whispers. The guests were terrified, trapped in a room where a mafia war was breaking out over the appetizers.
Dominic’s jaw clenched. “You crippled me to frame my father.”
“It was business,” Victor shrugged. “He was taking over our territory. The accident was meant to kill him. It was unfortunate you were in the car. But Antonio found out about the planted weapons. He knew if he went to war with me, I’d hand the manifest to the FBI. So, we made a deal. He stays quiet, he merges the families by marrying you to Isabella, and we take control of the ports legally.”
Victor walked toward Dominic.
“Your father’s dead, Dominic. The truce holds. Marry my daughter, and the manifest stays buried.”
Dominic stared at the man who had ordered the hit that had caused him a lifetime of pain. “And if I refuse?”
Victor chuckled darkly. “Then the FBI gets an anonymous package tomorrow morning, and you spend the rest of your life in federal prison.”
Margaret suddenly let out a sharp gasp.
She stood up from her chair, her hands shaking violently as she reached into her small pearl purse.
“He won't spend a day in prison, Victor,” Margaret said, her voice echoing with fierce determination.
Isabella sneered. “Oh, please. What is the maid going to do? Bake us a pie?”
Margaret ignored her. She pulled a small velvet pouch from her purse. Her hands were shaking so badly that the pouch slipped from her fingers.
It hit the marble floor.
The velvet strings loosened, and a heavy, tarnished brass key slid out, clattering loudly against the stone.
Victor Romano looked down at the key.
May you like
The smug, arrogant smile instantly vanished from his face. His skin turned the color of ash.
“Where,” Victor whispered, his voice trembling with sudden, absolute terror, “did you get that key?”
