Chapter 3 - The Lion in ChainsBack at the Bellandi estate, the party had disintegrated into chaos.
The sixty-three guests had fled like rats from a sinking ship within ten minutes of Julian Marlowe’s departure. No one wanted to be caught in the blast radius of a Bellandi collapse. By 10:30 p.m., only Dominic, a sweating underboss named Sal, and Vanessa remained in the vast, echoing dining room.
“Find her!” Dominic roared, smashing a crystal decanter against the stone fireplace. Amber scotch pooled across the hearth like blood. “Track her phone! Find out where she went!”
“Boss, we tried,” Sal stammered, holding his phone out like it might explode. “Every single burner phone, every tracking device we have on her vehicle—they’re all pinging out of a secure server farm in downtown Manhattan owned by Carter Advisory. The signal is looping. We can’t get a fix.”
“Call the accountants!”
“I called them,” Sal wiped sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand. “Vinnie says he can’t log into the books. He says... he says someone locked us out with military-grade encryption. The system is demanding a master key that only Claire possesses.”
Dominic lunged forward, grabbing Sal by the lapels of his suit and slamming him against the wall.
“Then get a hacker! Get someone here right now!”
“Dominic, stop it!”
A sharp, authoritative voice cut through the shouting.
Dominic turned to see his mother, Evelyn, standing at the entrance of the dining room. She wasn't shaking. Her silver hair was immaculate, and her dark eyes burned with a cold, terrifying fury that made even Dominic loosen his grip on Sal.
“Mother, stay out of this,” Dominic snarled, breathing heavily. “This is business.”
“This is suicide,” Evelyn corrected, walking slowly toward them until she stood directly beneath the glittering chandelier. “For fifteen years, you treated your wife like a decorative centerpiece. You brought whores into her home, you belittled her work, and you thought her quietness meant she was weak.”
“She is weak!” Dominic shouted, though the sound lacked its previous conviction. “She’s a woman I kept in a nice house!”
“She built this house, you fool!” Evelyn slammed her hand down on the dining table, the sharp crack echoing through the empty hall. “Every contract you signed, every rival territory you acquired without a bloody war, every federal investigation that mysteriously vanished before it reached a grand jury—do you honestly believe your dim-witted captains managed that? Claire did it! She was the architect of your entire empire, and you just handed her the sledgehammer!”
Vanessa, standing pale and trembling in the corner, tried to interject. “Mr. Bellandi—Dominic—surely we can just—”
Evelyn snapped her head toward Vanessa, her gaze venomous. “And you. You cheap, painted distraction. You walked into my home draped in arrogance, believing you had won a prize. You didn’t win a throne, girl. You just inherited a sinking ship.”
Dominic stared at his mother, his chest heaving. The reality was finally beginning to penetrate his dense, arrogant skull. The money, the ports, the political protection, the Marlowe contract—it wasn’t his. It was hers, leased to him through marriage, and she had just cancelled the lease.
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“Where is she?” Dominic whispered, his voice dangerously low.
“On her way to Manhattan,” Evelyn said calmly. “And if you know what is good for you, Dominic, you will get on your knees and pray she decides to leave you with your life, because she has already taken everything else.”
