Chapter 5 - The Conservatory Showdown and the Betrayal
The silence in the grand conservatory was absolute, broken only by the steady dripping of the indoor water fountain and the ragged sound of Dominic’s breathing.
The three capos froze, their hands hovering inches from their hidden weapons as they stared at Dominic. They were seasoned men of the underworld, men who had survived decades of turf wars and betrayals, but the sheer, unyielding aura of lethal authority radiating from Dominic Rossi made even them hesitate.
"Marcus," the oldest capo, a scarred man named Salvatore, spoke up, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the mafia boss and the trembling traitor. "Is it true? Did you sell our dock routes to the Marcones?"
"Salvatore, don't listen to him!" Marcus shrieked, panic cracking his smooth exterior. "He's paranoid! The fever has rotted his brain! He's going to kill us all to keep his grip on the throne!"
Dominic didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He simply reached into his coat pocket with his left hand, pulled out the heavy leather ledger Clara had brought earlier, and tossed it onto the glass table in front of Salvatore.
"Page forty-two," Dominic said coldly. "Read it out loud, Salvatore."
Salvatore flipped the heavy book open with a calloused thumb, his eyes scanning the columns of handwritten numbers and offshore routing codes. A heavy, dark frown settled over his scarred face as his finger traced Marcus’s signature at the bottom of the page.
"Account numbers in the Cayman Islands," Salvatore muttered, looking up at Marcus with pure disgust. "Tied directly to Victor Marcone. You sold us out for pocket change, Marcus."
The two other capos stepped back, putting physical distance between themselves and the traitor. In the underworld, violence was expected, but corporate treason—selling out your own blood and brothers to a rival family—was the ultimate sin.
Marcus realized the game was over. His eyes darted toward the conservatory exit, calculating his odds of making it past Leo, who stood blocking the doorway like a mountain of black wool and muscle.
Suddenly, Marcus’s hand flashed toward his shoulder holster, drawing a sleek silver Beretta with desperate speed.
He didn't aim at Dominic.
He aimed directly at me.
"If I'm going down, I'm taking his little nurse with me!" Marcus screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger.
My heart stopped. My feet felt glued to the marble floor. The barrel of the silver gun loomed large in my vision, a sudden, terrifying end to a week that had started with an eviction notice.
Before I could even draw a breath, a deafening crack shattered the glass dome of the conservatory.
Bang.
Marcus froze mid-motion, his eyes widening in shock as a clean red hole appeared dead center in his forehead. The silver Beretta slipped from his limp fingers, clattering against the marble floor a split second before Marcus collapsed facedown into the fern bed beside the fountain.
Smoke curled lazily from the barrel of Dominic’s Browning Hi-Power.
Dominic lowered the gun slowly, his face paler than before, a fresh stain of red bleeding through the white bandages on his right shoulder from the sudden recoil.
The conservatory was dead silent once more.
Salvatore looked down at Marcus’s body, then slowly raised his gaze to Dominic, bowing his head in a gesture of absolute submission.
"The family debt is paid, Boss," Salvatore said quietly.
Dominic didn't answer right away. He swayed on his feet, his eyes briefly rolling back before he caught himself against the mahogany table.
"Get him out of my house," Dominic rasped, gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. "And tell the rest of the capos that business resumes as usual tomorrow morning."
The three capos didn't waste a second. They grabbed Marcus’s body by the arms and dragged him out through the service doors, leaving a dark smear across the polished marble floor.
As soon as the doors clicked shut, Dominic let out a low groan, his knees buckling beneath him.
"Oh, no you don't," I muttered, dropping my medical bag and rushing forward just in time to catch his heavy frame before he hit the ground.
We sank to the floor together, Dominic’s head resting heavily against my shoulder. The heat radiating off him was terrifying. The white bandages on his shoulder were soaked through with dark, fresh blood.
"You're an absolute idiot," I whispered, pressing my hand firmly against his wound to stem the bleeding.
A weak, tired chuckle rumbled in his chest. "You said that already, Nurse Nora."
"And I meant it."
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Leo appeared around the corner, sprinting toward us with a panicked expression. "Boss! Nora! I'll get the stretcher—"
"Forget the stretcher," I snapped, glaring up at the household manager. "Help me carry him back to the master suite before my rent-paying patient dies of sheer stupidity!"
