Dominic Moretti didn't flinch when Marcus, his head of security, skidded to a halt on the wet marble of the service corridor.

The air in the lower cellar was heavy with the smell of damp earth, ancient oak barrels, and iron.

Vittorio Rossi was zip-tied to a heavy wooden chair beneath a single flickering lightbulb. His expensive silk shirt was torn at the collar, his face bruised where Marcus had brought him down at the gate. Despite his bindings, he sat with his chin raised, an ugly, arrogant sneer plastered across his face.

The heavy iron door groaned open, and Dominic stepped into the room. He didn't carry a weapon. He didn't need one. His presence alone seemed to drop the room's temperature by ten degrees.

"Dominic," Vittorio spat, wiping blood from his lip with his shoulder. "You think you can hold a high captain of the syndicate in a dark room like a dog? The council is already gathering at the docks! By midnight, your leadership will be declared void!"

Dominic walked slowly toward him, stopping two feet away. He pulled the antique rose gold pocket watch from his pocket and held it up by its broken chain, letting it swing gently in the dim light.

Vittorio’s sneer faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening before he forced his expression back into cold defiance.

"Where did you get that?" Vittorio rasped.

"You dropped it near the cold room, Uncle," Dominic said softly. "Right after you mixed peanut extract and viper toxin into Ethan’s frosting. A interesting combination. Painful, quick, and almost impossible to detect unless a doctor knows what to look for."

"You have no proof I put anything in that cake!" Vittorio sneered. "Any servant could have dropped that watch! I lost it years ago!"

"You didn't lose it, Vittorio," Dominic replied, his voice dropping to a dangerous hush. "You stole it. From Arturo’s workshop in upstate New York. Right before you murdered your own brother."

Vittorio froze completely. The arrogant color drained from his face, leaving him looking sickly grey under the harsh light of the single bulb.

"How... how do you know that name?" Vittorio whispered.

"Because Arturo’s daughter is currently upstairs in my master suite," Dominic said, leaning in until his eyes were inches from his uncle’s. "And her daughter—the three-year-old girl you tried to bribe with hard candy outside the cold room—is the one who knocked the poison from my son’s hands."

Vittorio stared at him in utter disbelief. "Arturo’s... daughter?"

"Fate has a strange way of balancing the scales, doesn't it?" Dominic murmured. "You murdered my uncle for his wealth. You tried to murder my son for my throne. And in the end, it was Arturo’s blood that exposed you to the entire world."

Vittorio’s jaw worked silently for a moment before he let out a harsh, desperate laugh. "It doesn't matter, Dominic! You’re too late! Falcone and Lorenzo have already mobilized the harbor guards! They know about your secret meetings with the federal prosecutor last month! They believe you were planning to sell out the family to clear your own ledger! By morning, the Moretti empire will be dismantled, and you’ll be buried beneath the docks!"

Dominic pulled a small, silver digital voice recorder from his breast pocket and held it up. A small red recording light was glowing steadily.

"Thank you, Vittorio," Dominic said smoothly, pressing the stop button. "That confession regarding your alliance with Falcone and Lorenzo was exactly what I needed to show the remaining capos."

Vittorio’s eyes bulged with rage. "You bastard!"

Dominic turned on his heel, walking toward the heavy iron door. "Marcus."