Chapter 9 - the traitor's mark
The reveal hit Dominic like a physical blow. He stood up slowly, stepping back from the table as if struck.
"My mother died of cancer when I was eighteen," Dominic said, his voice flat and dangerous. "I buried her myself."
"Julian saw her, Dominic!" Sofia insisted, standing up to face him. "He was the one who drove Elena to the docks at 7:00 AM on October 14th! He watched your mother hand Elena that silver key!"
Dominic’s mind raced. The timeline was fitting together like pieces of a horrific puzzle.
7:00 AM — Elena meets Dominic’s supposedly dead mother at the docks.
7:42 AM — Julian takes the photograph stamped with the Moretti security code.
8:00 AM — The car bomb detonates.
"Why didn't Julian tell me this three years ago?" Dominic demanded, his hands trembling with rage.
"Because Charles threatened to kill me and Emma if Julian said a word!" Sofia cried. "Julian was trying to find a way to get us out of the country before they killed him too! But they made his car crash look like an accident!"
Suddenly, the lights in the mansion flickered violently and died, plunging the parlor into pitch-black darkness.
Instantly, the estate’s emergency red backup lights clicked on, casting a blood-red glow over the room.
The heavy glass windows at the end of the corridor shattered with a deafening crash.
"Stay down!" Dominic yelled, drawing his custom black pistol from his shoulder holster in one fluid motion. He shoved Sofia and Emma behind the heavy mahogany desk.
Shouts and gunfire echoed from the front courtyard.
"Boss!" Frank’s voice boomed over Dominic’s radio. "We're under attack! Multiple heavily armed shooters breached the perimeter! They're using military-grade flashbangs!"
"Hold the foyer!" Dominic commanded into the radio. "Do not let them reach the east wing!"
Dominic turned back to Sofia. He reached into his belt and pulled out a small, compact sleek handgun, sliding it across the desk toward her.
"Do you know how to use this?" he asked grimly.
Sofia looked at the cold steel weapon, then at her sleeping daughter huddled under the desk. She picked up the gun with surprisingly firm hands. "Point and pull."
"Good," Dominic said. "If anyone other than me opens that door, shoot."
Dominic stepped out into the hallway, his weapon raised. The corridor was filled with smoke and flashing red emergency lights.
As he moved toward the grand staircase, he spotted a figure in dark tactical gear moving stealthily toward the private study. The intruder held a silenced rifle.
Dominic crept up behind the intruder, pressing the barrel of his pistol directly against the back of the figure's helmet.
"Move and you die," Dominic growled.
The intruder slowly raised their hands. With their right hand, they reached up and pulled off their tactical mask.
Dominic’s jaw dropped.
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Standing in front of him, clad in full tactical gear and holding a silenced weapon, was Frank—his most trusted lieutenant and best friend of fifteen years.
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