Chapter 8 - The Shadow Director
Don Carmine was dead, Moretti was broken, and the Council’s military wing was obliterated. But as I searched Moretti’s body, I found an encrypted satellite tablet tucked into his coat.
The screen was active. A video call was connected.
I picked up the tablet, holding it up to my face.
On the screen sat an elderly man in a dark, rich library, sitting in a leather wheelchair, sipping tea.
Grandfather Romano—my father’s brother, Arthur Romano. The oldest living patriarch of our family, a man who had officially retired to a private medical estate in upstate New York ten years ago.
"Dominic," Arthur’s frail, cold voice came through the tablet's speaker. "I see you survived the night. Impressive. You always had your father's violent stamina."
My hand tightened on the tablet, cracked glass spider-webbing under my grip. "Uncle Arthur."
"Don't look so surprised, nephew," Arthur said smoothly, setting his teacup down. "You were burning down my city over your dead wife. I couldn't let your personal vendetta ruin forty years of Council stability."
"You ordered Isabelle's death," I whispered, the realization cutting deeper than any bullet wound.
"Isabelle was weak," Arthur scoffed. "She was persuading you to pull out of the docks, to go legitimate, to take your money and leave New York. You were the most powerful enforcer the Romano family had produced in a century. I couldn't allow a schoolteacher from Long Island to dismantle our empire."
"So you used Julian," I said, my voice dangerously calm.
"Julian was a greedy idiot," Arthur dismissed. "Eager to betray his sister for a percentage of the shipping routes. He made a mess of it outside that school, letting the little girls live. I told him to finish the job, but he was too soft."
"They were children, Arthur," I snarled. "Your own grand-nieces."
"In our world, Dominic, blood is only valuable as long as it serves the family," Arthur replied coldly. "You have destroyed the Council's soldiers tonight, but you are bleeding, wounded, and exhausted. Turn over the Brooklyn docks to my remaining captains, take your mute brats, and leave the country. Do this, and I will let you live out your days in Europe."
I stared at the old man on the screen. The man who had sat at my wedding table, who had held my daughters when they were babies, who had orchestrated the murder of my wife to protect his profits.
"Arthur," I said softly.
"Yes, Dominic?"
"Look out your library window."
Arthur frowned on the screen. He turned his wheelchair slightly, looking toward the dark glass of his estate's window behind him.
Through the tablet's microphone, I heard the faint, terrifying rumble of an engine.
A second later, on the screen, a heavy black SUV smashed straight through Arthur’s floor-to-ceiling glass window, showering his luxurious library with shattered glass and iron frames.
The tablet went black.
Standing beside me, Lev lowered his radio. "My squad in upstate New York just breached his study, Dominic. The old man is secured."
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I looked at Grace, who was wrapping a clean tourniquet around my shoulder wound.
"Get my girls," I told her. "It's time to close this book forever."
