Chapter 1 - The Lockdown of the Westchester Estate
The heavy silver dessert fork remained where Dr. Harris had dropped it, resting on a white linen napkin beside the shattered porcelain on the Italian marble floor. The atmosphere in the grand ballroom had shifted from celebration to a state of absolute, suffocating tension.
More than a hundred of New York’s elite—politicians, banking tycoons, import moguls, and family associates—stood frozen in their places. They knew Dominic Moretti. They knew that when the music stopped and the doors were bolted from the outside, the rules of the normal world no longer applied.
My gaze swept across the room, locking onto the perimeter doors. Vincent, my head of security, was already motioning to the heavily armed detail stationed along the perimeter.
"Lock every exterior exit," I ordered, my voice cutting through the silence like a razor blade. "Nobody leaves the grounds. No vehicles. No phone calls. No exceptions."
A prominent city councilman stepped forward, his face flushed with indignation. "Dominic, this is absurd! My driver is waiting outside, and I have an early meeting tomorrow morning—"
I turned my head slowly, fixing him with a stare that had silenced men twice his size. He stopped talking immediately, taking a quiet step back into the crowd.
"You are welcome to sleep in the East Wing guest rooms," I said softly, the quietness of my tone carrying an undeniable menace. "Or you can test my patience and see what happens when I decide who is allowed to leave this property."
No one else argued.
Sophia knelt on the floor, gently gathering Lily into her arms. The little girl buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, the adrenaline of the moment finally giving way to exhaustion and fear. Ethan stood beside me, his small fingers still tightly wrapped around the fabric of my suit jacket.
"Vincent," I muttered, bending down to scoop Ethan into my arms, holding him close against my chest. "Take Dr. Harris, Ethan, and Sophia to the family drawing room on the second floor. Lock the doors from the inside. Do not open them for anyone except me."
"Understood, boss," Vincent replied, his hand resting on the grip of his concealed firearm.
As my family was escorted up the grand staircase under heavy guard, I turned my attention back to the ballroom floor. The party was over. The real work was about to begin.
I walked toward the service corridor leading to the refrigerated preparation room—the cold room where Ethan’s cake had been guarded. Every step I took felt calculated, heavy with the realization that the threat wasn't outside our walls. It was sitting at our table, breathing our air, walking our halls.
The security monitor station at the end of the service hall was manned by two young guards who looked terrified. When they saw me approach, they stood up so fast their chairs scraped against the linoleum.
"Mr. Moretti... we checked the logs," one stammered, his forehead slick with sweat. "Nobody entered the cold room during the pastry chef's shift."
"The logs lie," I said coldly. "Pull the physical backup drive from the main server rack. Every camera angle. Every keycard swipe. If there is a blind spot, I want to know who engineered it."
As the technician frantically began downloading the footage, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. An encrypted text from an unknown local number flashed across the screen:
May you like
A fortress built by fear always falls from the inside, Dominic. Happy birthday to the boy.
I stared at the screen, my jaw tightening until the bones ached. Someone inside my inner circle was playing a very dangerous game. And by morning, they would discover that the man they were trying to break was just getting started.
