Chapter 2 - The Silent Protocol
The grand ballroom emptied within four minutes. Dominic’s chief lieutenant, Frank, alongside six heavily armed bodyguards in dark suits, escorted the terrified politicians, mob bosses, and high-society guests out into the night, locking the heavy iron gates of the estate from the inside.
Inside Dominic’s private, dark-paneled study, the atmosphere was suffocating. Heavy velvet drapes blocked out the moonlight, while a single brass desk lamp illuminated the dark mahogany furniture.
Veronica sat pinned in a heavy leather armchair, two armed guards standing motionless behind her. Her crimson gown was rumpled, her fair face pale, but her eyes burned with frantic calculation.
Across the room, seven-year-old Maisie sat on a plush sofa, fast asleep under a wool blanket. Dominic stood by the high glass windows, his black tuxedo jacket removed, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing his broad, battle-hardened chest. He held the DNA report in his broad hand, his knuckles white.
"Speak, Veronica," Dominic said, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm. "Before I let Frank handle the questioning."
Veronica swallowed hard, her manicured fingers digging into her arms. "Sofia didn't die nine years ago in the harbor crash, Dominic. You know that. My sister was alive when Maisie was born."
Dominic turned around slowly, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the rug. "Sofia Vance was reported dead in Chicago two years before Maisie was brought to this house. My late wife, Catherine, brought Maisie home from Saint Jude Memorial as our legitimate daughter."
"Catherine lied to you!" Veronica spat, her voice trembling with desperate rage. "Catherine couldn't have children! She paid the doctors at Saint Jude to steal Sofia’s newborn baby the night Sofia was brought into the emergency ward under a false name!"
Dominic walked slowly toward her chair, his polished shoes silent on the rug. "And where is Sofia now?"
Veronica looked down at the floor, a subtle, dark smile returning to her lips. "If I tell you that, Dominic, you'll kill me. But as long as I hold the original intake record from Saint Jude, your title as Don is invalid under the syndicate charter. A child born of Sofia Vance carries the primary deed to the Chicago terminals."
Dominic didn't answer. He picked up his secure satellite phone from the desk, dialing a private number that hadn't been used in seven years.
He set the phone on speaker.
The line rang twice before a raspy, elderly female voice answered through the speaker: "Mr. Carbone. I knew you would call when the child turned seven."
Dominic’s jaw tightened. "Mrs. Gable. You were the head nurse at Saint Jude the night my daughter was born."
"I was," the old nurse replied softly. "And if you want to know what really happened to Sofia Vance, look inside the leather trunk locked in Catherine's private chapel."
The phone line went dead with a sharp click.
Dominic lowered the phone, looking at Veronica. "Frank. Take Veronica to the holding suite in the west wing. Strip her of all communication devices."
As the guards dragged Veronica out of the study, Maisie stirred softly on the sofa. She opened her wide brown eyes, looking at Dominic with sweet, tired innocence.
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"Daddy?" Maisie whispered. "Is Aunt Veronica telling the truth?"
Dominic walked over, dropping to one knee beside the sofa. He gently smoothed down her dark hair, his rough, battle-hardened face softening into pure warmth. "No, sweetie. Nobody is taking you away from me."
