Chapter 6 - A Cold Breakfast
The formal dining room was freezing. The fireplace remained unlit, and the remains of the ruined Thanksgiving dinner still sat on the long mahogany table, the silver platter holding the half-carved turkey covered in congealed grease.
Beatrice Moretti sat at the center of the table, wrapped in an expensive silk dressing gown, her chin lifted in indignant defiance. Beside her, Vivian was shivering in a satin slip, weeping hysterically into her manicured hands. Four armed guards in black tactical gear stood behind their chairs, their submachine guns resting against their chests.
""This is an outrage!"" Beatrice spat, glaring at the guards. ""Dominic! I am your mother! I built this empire with your father while you were still in school! How dare you treat us like common criminals?""
The double doors swung open. Dominic walked in, holding Clara’s floral notebook in one hand and a thin folder of bank statements in the other. He didn't look angry; he looked devoid of all humanity. That was the state that made men beg for their lives.
He tossed the ledger onto the table directly in front of Beatrice. It landed with a heavy slap against the wood.
""Read it,"" Dominic said quietly, pulling out a chair across from them and sitting down.
Beatrice sneered at the battered notebook. ""I don't need to read the scribblings of a broken, penniless beggar.""
""You will read it, or I will have Matteo remove Vivian’s fingers one by one until you do,"" Dominic said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion.
Vivian let out a piercing shriek. ""Mama, please! Please, read it! Dominic, I didn't do anything! It was all Mama! She said you were too soft, she said Falcone would make me a real princess in New York—""
""Shut your mouth, you foolish girl!"" Beatrice snapped, though a sudden bead of sweat broke out along her hairline.
""You took three million dollars out of my shipping accounts over the last four months,"" Dominic stated, laying down the bank records. ""You routed it through an entity registered to Silvio Falcone’s brother in Panama. And last night, you gave him the security codes to our north terminal. My men intercepted Falcone's convoy at three o'clock this morning.""
Beatrice went completely rigid. ""What did you do?""
Dominic leaned forward, his dark eyes boring into hers. ""Silvio Falcone is currently sitting at the bottom of the East River inside one of his own delivery vans. His territory belongs to the Moretti family as of four a.m. His men have bent the knee. Your little coup was dead before you finished your beauty sleep.""
Beatrice’s face drained of color until she looked like a corpse. ""Dominic... I did it for this family. Clara is a nobody! She has no bloodline, no connections! She was dragging you down—""
""Clara took second-degree burns to her arms and stood in silence while you humiliated her, just so she wouldn't ruin a business dinner for this family,"" Dominic whispered, his voice shaking with a terrifying, contained fury. ""Clara protected my shipping leases while you were selling me out to my worst enemy. Clara is ten times the woman you will ever be.""
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He stood up, towering over them like an angel of death.
""You have twenty minutes to vacate this property. You will take one suitcase each. Your credit cards have been canceled. Your trust funds have been seized. Vivian, you will be boarding a flight to a convent in northern Italy by noon. Mother... you will live in a two-bedroom apartment in Staten Island under twenty-four-hour surveillance. If either of you ever steps foot within five miles of my wife again, I will forget that we share blood.""
