Chapter 3 - The Cold Calculus of SurvivalInside the small apartment, Lily’s footsteps could be heard padding softly down the hallway from the bathroom.
"Mama? Who is that man?" Lily called out innocently, her small voice piercing the tense, lethal silence of the entryway.
Elena’s face drained of all color. She looked at Dominic, panic and desperation warring in her eyes. "Vincent, please," she begged, stepping toward the stairs. "Let the child go into the bedroom. This is between you and Dominic."
Vincent chuckled, a dry, grating sound. "The brat stays where she is. She’s our insurance policy, Elena. Walk backward into the kitchen, Moretti. Hands where I can see them."
Dominic obeyed, moving with calculated slowness. His mind raced at light-speed. He was outnumbered and outgunned in a confined space, but Dominic Moretti had built an empire by turning impossible odds into mass graves.
As he stepped into the cramped kitchen, he spotted the heavy iron skillet resting beside the stove.
"You made a critical mistake, Vincent," Dominic said softly, his voice eerily calm.
Vincent frowned, tightening his grip on his pistol. "What are you babbling about?"
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"You assumed I came here alone," Dominic replied, a lethal smile touching the corners of his mouth.
Outside on the street, Bruno Hayes—Dominic’s veteran head of security—had already noticed the silence stretching past protocol. And Bruno never missed a drop-off window.
