Chapter 4 - The Traitor Within
The atmosphere in the grand study had shifted from tense to lethal.
The black surveillance box sat on Dominic’s mahogany desk, its small red LED light blinking rhythmically in the dim room. Marco stood by the door like a statue of vengeance, while Dominic paced the Persian rug, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white.
"It was wired into the main security bypass," Marco reported, his voice low and dangerous. "Only three people in this household have the master encryption codes to access that bypass: Myself, Mrs. Gable, and..." Marco hesitated, glancing at Dominic.
"And head of domestic security, Victor Vance," Dominic finished, his voice cold as arctic ice.
Hannah sat in the leather armchair, holding a warm cup of tea Mrs. Gable had hurriedly brought her. Her hands were still shaking slightly, not from fear of Dominic, but from the realization of how close the danger had been to those innocent little girls.
"Victor," Dominic muttered, shaking his head slowly. "My father took him in off the streets twenty years ago. He was my shadow."
"He wasn't just listening, Dominic," Hannah spoke up, her voice steadying. She set her teacup down on the side table and stood up. "Look at the logs on that device. It’s a two-way transmitter. It pumps a micro-dose of a sedative aerosol into the ventilation ducts during the night."
Dominic stopped pacing. His dark eyes snapped to hers. "A sedative."
"Slow, continuous, undetectable," Hannah explained, stepping closer to the desk. "It’s why the girls were always exhausted, why they never cried loudly, why their cognitive development stalled. Someone was slowly drugging them right under your nose."
Dominic’s expression darkened into something demonic. The mafia boss people whispered about in hushed tones—the man who tore empires apart without blinking—was finally unleashed.
"Victor," Dominic whispered, a promise of absolute ruin in the single word.
Before Marco could reply, the heavy oak door of the study burst open.
Victor Vance stood in the doorway, breathless, his suit jacket slightly rumpled, holding a silver pistol in his right hand. His eyes darted from Dominic to the blinking device on the desk, and finally to Hannah standing calmly beside it.
"Well," Victor sneered, his mask of loyalty completely dropping away. "I always knew you were entirely too smart for a waitress, Miss Mercer. Should have had you dealt with at the restaurant."
Marco’s hand flashed toward his holster, but Victor raised his pistol instantly, aiming straight at Dominic’s chest.
"Don't even think about it, Marco," Victor hissed. "One twitch and your boss joins his precious daughters in the ground. The syndicate in Chicago paid a very heavy price for this family to crumble from the inside out. And I was almost finished."
The room went deathly still.
Hannah’s heart pounded, but an unnatural calmness washed over her. She remembered her father fighting for every breath in his hospital bed. She remembered refusing to let anyone push her around.
Victor was gloating, his eyes locked triumphantly on Dominic.
He had completely forgotten about the person standing quietly to the side.
With a sudden, explosive burst of adrenaline, Hannah grabbed the heavy crystal whiskey decanter off the side table and hurled it with every ounce of strength she possessed straight at Victor’s head.
Clash!
The heavy crystal shattered against Victor’s temple, knocking him off balance just enough for his shot to go wild, blowing a hole in the mahogany ceiling.
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Before Victor could recover, Marco tackled him to the floor with bone-crushing force, sending the pistol skidding across the Persian rug.
Dominic didn't blink. He calmly walked over, picked up the pistol, and pressed the cold barrel directly against Victor’s forehead as the traitor gasped for air beneath Marco’s boot.
