Chapter 5 - THE UNDERCOVER LENS
The red dot of the laser sight rested perfectly between Victor Romano’s eyes.
The photographer, a man I knew only as "Mr. Hayes" who usually complained about lighting and requested extra coffee during events, moved with the terrifying, fluid precision of a highly trained operative.
“I said drop the guns,” Hayes commanded, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.
Victor’s men hesitated, their eyes darting between their boss and the man holding the assault rifle. Silas and Dominic’s guards used the distraction to step out of the fatal funnel, leveling their weapons at the backs of the Romano men.
The standoff was on a razor’s edge. One sudden movement would turn the engagement dinner into a bloodbath.
“Who are you?” Victor hissed, his eyes locked on the red dot hovering over his own vision. “You’re no wedding photographer.”
Hayes chuckled, a low, humorless sound. He kept his rifle perfectly steady.
“I’ve been photographing your family for three years, Victor,” Hayes said. “I took the pictures at your niece’s baptism. I shot your company’s annual gala. I’ve taken thousands of photos of you.”
He took a slow step forward, flanking Victor’s men.
“And not a single one of those photos was for a family album,” Hayes continued, his voice hardening. “They were for the FBI organized crime task force. I’m Special Agent Hayes. And this house is currently surrounded by forty heavily armed federal agents.”
Isabella let out a strangled gasp, stumbling backward until she hit the edge of the dining table.
“FBI?” Isabella choked out. She looked at Dominic in absolute horror. “You... you brought a federal agent into our engagement party? You’re wearing a wire?”
Dominic looked just as surprised as Isabella. He glanced at Hayes, his dark eyes narrowing.
“I didn't invite him,” Dominic stated, tightening his grip on the brass key. “I don't work with the feds.”
“No, you don't, Dominic,” Hayes agreed, not breaking his focus on Victor. “But your father did.”
Margaret gasped beside me. I could feel the eighty-one-year-old woman trembling against my shoulder.
“Antonio?” Margaret whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
Hayes nodded slightly, though he didn't look away from his target. “Three years ago, Antonio Caruso walked into the Chicago field office. He knew his heart was failing. He knew he didn't have enough time left to take down the Romanos himself. So, he made a deal with the Bureau.”
Hayes shifted his aim slightly, forcing Victor’s lead gunman to lower his weapon.
“Antonio agreed to surrender all his illegal assets, dismantle his own syndicate from the inside out, and hand over the key to the master vault,” Hayes explained, the truth falling like heavy stones in the silent room. “In exchange, the FBI agreed to grant full immunity to his son, Dominic. Provided Dominic left the criminal life behind permanently.”
I looked at Dominic.
The powerful, feared mafia boss looked as though the floor had vanished beneath his feet.
His father hadn't just sacrificed his pride to protect him. Antonio had sacrificed his entire empire, his legacy, and his freedom, all to ensure that Dominic wouldn't spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.
“He sold us out,” Victor snarled, his face twisting with pure, unadulterated rage.
Victor wasn't going to surrender. He was a man who had spent his life dealing death; he wasn't going to rot in a federal cell.
In a split second of desperate madness, Victor grabbed Isabella by the arm, violently yanking his own daughter in front of him as a human shield.
Isabella screamed as her father pressed a hidden derringer pistol directly against the side of her head.
“Drop the rifle, Agent!” Victor roared, spittle flying from his lips. “Drop it, or I blow my own daughter’s brains all over this table!”
Even Hayes hesitated. The federal agent clearly hadn't anticipated a father taking his own child hostage.
Isabella sobbed hysterically, her perfect red gown now a crumpled mess, her hands clawing desperately at her father’s arm. “Dad! Dad, please! It’s me!”
“Shut up!” Victor barked, pressing the barrel harder into her temple. He glared at Dominic. “Toss the key across the floor, Dominic. Right now. I’m walking out of this house with my daughter and that key, and if anyone follows me, she’s dead.”
Dominic’s jaw clenched. He held the brass key in his fist.
He didn't love Isabella. He despised her. But he wasn't a monster who would watch a woman be murdered by her own father on his dining room floor.
Dominic raised his hand, preparing to toss the key.
“Don't do it, Dominic!” a fierce voice rang out.
It was Margaret.
Before I could stop her, the eighty-one-year-old woman stepped out from behind the marble pillar. She wasn't leaning on her cane. She stood tall, her white hair glowing under the chandeliers, her eyes blazing with the fierce, protective fire of a mother.
“If you give him that key, Antonio’s sacrifice means nothing!” Margaret shouted.
Victor’s eyes snapped toward Margaret. The hatred in his face was absolute.
“I told you to shut up, you old hag!” Victor screamed.
Victor didn't wait. He didn't hesitate. He shifted his derringer away from Isabella and aimed it directly at Margaret’s chest.
My blood ran cold.
“NO!” I screamed.
I threw myself forward, tackling Margaret back behind the pillar just as a deafening CRACK echoed through the dining room.
The gunshot shattered the silence.
I hit the marble floor hard, wrapping my body completely around Margaret’s fragile frame to shield her. The smell of burnt gunpowder filled the air.
For a terrifying second, I thought I felt blood.
Then I heard Isabella scream.
I looked up.
Margaret was unharmed. The bullet had missed us entirely, shattering a crystal vase on the side table.
But Victor Romano wasn't aiming at us anymore.
He was lying on the floor, clutching his shoulder, howling in agony.
Standing over him, his customized assault rifle still smoking, was Agent Hayes.
May you like
And standing right beside Hayes, holding a heavy, silver champagne bucket he had just used to bludgeon one of Victor’s armed guards into unconsciousness, was a man I never expected to see in this house.
My father.
