Chapter 7 - The Final Leverage
Dominic didn't stop walking. He advanced into the chamber with the cold, measured detachment of an executioner who had already read the obituary.
"You don't have explosives, Victor," Dominic said, his voice flat and dismissive. "Arthur cleared the structural pillars twenty minutes ago while you were busy trying to crack the safe."
Rostov’s eyes darted wildly toward the ceiling. The bluff had failed.
"You think you’ve won, Dominic?" Rostov laughed, a hysterical, ragged sound that echoed off the damp concrete. "You kill me tonight, and my associates in the federal prosecutor's office release the files on your Mediterranean holdings. You’ll be indicted before the stock market opens at nine."
Nora stepped forward from behind Dominic’s shoulder, her chin lifted high, her administrative mind snapping into razor-sharp focus.
"The federal prosecutor’s office won't receive anything, Mr. Rostov," Nora said clearly.
Rostov blinked, his bloodshot eyes shifting toward her in confusion. "What did you say, girl?"
"Assistant US Attorney Marcus Vance has been receiving kickbacks through your Panamanian dummy account since 2021," Nora stated, her voice adopting the brisk, undeniable authority she used during executive board meetings. "Three hundred thousand dollars per quarter, routed through a shell company registered to his wife’s maiden name in Zurich."
Rostov’s jaw fell open. "How... how do you know that?"
"Because I balance Mr. Falcone’s ledger every Thursday evening," Nora said with a faint, icy smirk. "I noticed the regulatory overlaps six months ago. I archived the mirrored bank statements, the transaction IDs, and the encrypted communications on an air-gapped server in Zurich."
Dominic turned his head slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye with pure, unadulterated shock. He had known she was brilliant, but he hadn't realized she had quietly mapped his enemy's entire political blackmail network while organizing his weekly lunch calendar.
"You don't have the leverage, Victor," Dominic said, turning back to the ruined man before him. "My assistant does."
Rostov stared at Nora, realizing in an instant that the modest secretary he had kidnapped to extort a mafia king was, in fact, the most dangerous architect in the room.
His hand shook violently. He raised the revolver, leveling it directly at Nora’s chest. "Then you die first, you little bitch—"
A single shot rang out.
Dominic had drawn his weapon so fast the motion was almost invisible. The bullet took Rostov through the center of his shoulder, spinning him violently into the open safe before he collapsed onto the damp floor, the chrome gun clattering away into the darkness.
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Dominic walked over, kicked the weapon into the drainage trench, and stood over the groaning man.
"Arthur," Dominic commanded without looking back. "Call the federal marshals. Give them the Zurich files on Rostov and Vance. Let the United States government clean up their own garbage."
