Chapter 4 - The Rat in the House
The underground parking garage beneath Mercy General was dark, smelling of wet asphalt and leaking motor oil. Rain pooled in the concrete drainage troughs, reflecting the amber headlights of three black Cadillac Escalades idling in a staggered formation.
Dominic stood near the pillar, smoking a cigarette he hadn't wanted, watching the smoke curl toward the low ceiling. He hadn't smoked in five years. Not since the night he threw Fiona's yellow cardigan into the incinerator behind his brownstone.
The side door of the middle SUV opened. Rocco, Dominic’s head of security, stepped out, wiping grease and rain from his forehead.
"We traced the security footage from the cargo dock," Rocco reported, speaking fast. "The ambulance that took Vincent had cloned city plates. It was registered to a fictitious shell corp in Gary, Indiana. But the driver... Boss, you aren't going to like this."
"Tell me," Dominic said without looking at him.
"It was Paulie Vitucci. Lorenzo Moretti's nephew."
Dominic took a slow pull from the cigarette, the ember glowing intensely orange against the gloom. The pieces were clicking together with brutal, horrific clarity.
The botched ambush at the docks tonight hadn't been an accident. Vincent hadn't taken a bullet trying to protect Dominic; Vincent had taken a flesh wound to give himself an alibi. The entire operation had been an inside coup. Vincent had formed an alliance with Lorenzo Moretti to dethrone Dominic. And to guarantee that Dominic wouldn't fight back—to paralyze him—they had targeted the only leverage that mattered.
"Vincent managed the anonymous trust," Dominic said quietly, his voice devoid of all warmth. "He had her address in Detroit. He knew she was living under her mother's maiden name."
"He's been working this angle for months, Boss," Rocco said grimly. "If he's been poisoning her slowly, he was waiting for the right moment to use her as a bargaining chip. But tonight, when the dock hit failed to kill you, he must have panicked and sent Moretti’s hitters to eliminate her before you could connect the dots."
"Where is the boy?" Dominic demanded.
"Still on the fifth floor. I put four of our best men outside Room 512. Nobody gets within twenty feet without showing blood."
"Move him," Dominic commanded, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath the heel of his Italian leather shoe. "Get a private ambulance. Bring Fiona and Leo to the safehouse in Lake Forest. Not the compound—the private residence on the bluff. The one with the reinforced panic room and the private surgical suite."
"Boss, Dr. Mitchell won't authorize a transfer. He says moving her will kill her."
Dominic walked toward the Escalade, opening the passenger door. "Then Dr. Mitchell is coming with us. Offer him two million dollars cash for forty-eight hours of his time. If he refuses, tell him I’ll build an entire pediatric wing in his late wife’s name. If he still refuses... put a bag over his head and carry him into the van. Either way, Fiona doesn't spend another night in this slaughterhouse."
Rocco nodded sharply and pulled out his radio.
Dominic climbed into the back seat, leaning his head against the tinted glass. He looked down at his phone. The screen displayed an incoming call from an unlisted number.
He swiped to accept.
"You're harder to kill than your father was, Dominic," a gravelly voice sneered through the speaker. Vincent.
"You should have aimed for my head, Vincent," Dominic said calmly. "A shoulder wound is sloppy. It makes you look desperate."
A dry, hacking laugh came from the other end. "I don't need to aim for your head when I’ve already aimed for your heart. How is the baker girl, Dominic? Did she look as pretty under those hospital lights as she did five years ago?"
Dominic's hand gripped the phone with enough force to splinter the casing. "You touch her, Vincent, and I won't just kill you. I will erase every branch of your family tree from this continent."
"Too late, Boss," Vincent mocked. "You think you're the only one who knows about Lake Forest? You think that little safehouse of yours is still a secret? Lorenzo and I are already on the highway. We don't just want the territory anymore, Dominic. We want the boy. A Russo heir is worth ten times the syndicates combined."
The line went dead.
May you like
Dominic slammed the phone onto the leather seat. "Franco!" he roared toward the driver. "Floor it! They aren't waiting for us to leave—they're hitting the fifth floor now!"
***
