Chapter 6
The grand dining hall of Ristorante Bellagio was an arena of impending chaos. The warm golden light from the towering crystal chandeliers reflected off the abandoned wine glasses and white tablecloths.
Standing near the grand marble entrance of the restaurant was Victor Bancroft—a ruthless, fifty-year-old syndicate lieutenant flanked by eight heavily armed men in dark tactical suits.
Dominic stepped out from the private wing, his polished black shoes clicking sharply against the marble floor. He walked alone, his customized black sidearm held loosely at his side, his broad frame radiating an untouchable, terrifying authority.
"Victor," Dominic called out, his deep baritone echoing off the high ceilings. "You're crashing a private dinner."
Victor stepped forward, a cruel, mocking smile stretching across his weathered face. "I heard you found a ghost in the kitchen, Dominic. A little girl wearing a silver pendant with a phoenix and a serpent."
Dominic’s sharp jawline tightened, his dark eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits. "You're trespassing on Moretti territory, Victor. Turn around and walk out before I paint this marble with your men."
"The council wants the girl, Dominic!" Victor shouted, raising a heavy silver handgun. "Her bloodline invalidates your claim to the primary trusts! Hand her over, and we let you keep the docks!"
Dominic let out a low, dark chuckle—a sound so chilling that two of Victor's men instinctively took a step back.
"You think I care about the trusts?" Dominic growled, stepping forward, his dragon tattoo prominent under the chandelier light. "That girl is my blood. And in New York, nobody touches a Moretti."
Before Victor could pull his trigger, Dominic moved with blinding, lethal speed. He raised his sidearm and fired three rapid, precise shots. The thunderous blasts shattered the quiet of the restaurant as two of Victor's front-line guards collapsed to the marble floor.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the gilded room as a fierce, fast-paced firefight erupted. Dominic utilized the heavy marble pillars for cover, moving with the fluid precision of a master predator, returning fire with lethal accuracy. Within ninety seconds, six of Bancroft's men were down, the remaining two retreating frantically toward the front glass doors.
Victor stumbled backward, bleeding from a shoulder wound, staring at Dominic in utter terror.
Dominic stepped out from behind the pillar, his black dress shirt unblemished, his dark eyes burning with absolute, terrifying dominance. He raised his weapon, lining up the final shot.
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"Tell the council," Dominic whispered coldly, "that the bloodline is reunited."
A single shot ended the encounter.
