Chapter 4 - The Confession
The gunfire brought half the private security detail running down the hall, weapons drawn and tactical flashlights cutting through the smoke. Dominic stood over the neutralized intruder, his chest heaving slightly, though his expression remained a mask of carved stone.
“Clear the wing,” Dominic ordered, his voice echoing in the confined space. “Check every room, every vent, every crawlspace. I want a sweep done twice.”
He turned away from the body and walked straight toward my doorway. I was still sliding down the drywall, gasping for air, clutching my bruised throat.
Dominic stopped in front of me, dropping his guns into their shoulder holsters. For a second, the iron-fisted mafia boss vanished, replaced by a man who had stared into the abyss of losing his only son just hours ago. He extended a large, scarred hand down to me.
“Can you stand?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
I took his hand, and he hauled me to my feet with effortless strength. “I... I think so. Thank you, Mr. Moretti.”
“You saved my son, and now you just saved your own life,” he said, his eyes scanning the dark hallway. He glanced toward the desk where Lily was still hidden. “Is she awake?”
“She’s hiding under the desk,” I whispered, my voice raspy. “She’s terrified.”
Dominic walked over, crouched down, and gently pulled the desk skirt back. “Lily,” he said softly. “It’s safe to come out now. The bad man is gone.”
Lily peered out, her big eyes wide with fear. She looked at Dominic, then past him at the smoking hallway, before crawling out straight into his arms. Dominic—a man who hadn't hugged anyone outside his immediate family in a decade—lifted her up effortlessly, resting her small head against his broad shoulder.
“You have brave blood, little one,” he murmured, patting her back. He turned back to me. “Pack a bag for both of you. You aren't staying in this wing tonight. You’re moving to the master penthouse on the top floor. No one gets up there without my thumbprint.”
An hour later, secured in the bulletproof luxury of the master suite while Dr. Harris checked Ethan in the adjoining wing, Dante walked in with a bloody tablet.
“Sir, we ran facial recognition on the intruder using the local Interpol database. He wasn't a Chicago freelancer. He was an elite cleaner from the European syndicate—the Corsican branch.”
Dominic narrowed his eyes. “The Corsicans? They haven't operated on the East Coast in five years.”
“They are now,” Dante said grimly, handing the tablet to Dominic. “And look at the encrypted comms we pulled off his encrypted radio. He didn't come here to kill Ethan. He came here to clean up a loose end.”
Dominic stared at the screen, and the color drained completely from his face. “A loose end? Who?”
“Marco,” Dante said. “Milo’s contact. They didn't just buy Milo off. They planted Marco in the kitchen to fail. They wanted the poison to be caught.”
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I stepped forward, confusion gripping my chest. “Caught? Why would they want the poison to be found if they wanted Ethan dead?”
Dominic looked up at me, his eyes dark with a terrifying realization. “Because the poison was never meant to kill Ethan tonight, Clara. It was a message to me. And the real target was supposed to be the entire Moretti family gathered at the table—waiting for the autopsy to begin.”
