Chapter 3 - The Study of Betrayal
The private study on the third floor of the Hudson Valley estate was a sanctuary of dark wood, leather armchairs, and decades of syndicate history. The heavy floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping, panoramic view of the Hudson River shrouded in morning fog.
Now, it felt like an interrogation chamber.
Claire sat perched on the edge of a Chesterfield sofa, her silk robe clutched tightly around her. Nathan stood near the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window with an expression of cold defiance.
Dominic sat behind his massive mahogany desk. He hadn’t holstered his gun; it lay flat on the blotter, just inches from his right hand.
“Sit down, Nathan,” Dominic said.
“I prefer standing,” Nathan replied coldly.
“I said sit down.”
Nathan hesitated, then slowly lowered himself into the armchair opposite the desk. He didn't look like a subordinate anymore. He looked like an equal who had grown tired of waiting for the crown.
“Seventeen years, Nathan,” Dominic began, his voice terrifyingly calm. “I trusted you with my life. When the Outfit tried to take the Brooklyn docks in ’12, you took a bullet in the shoulder for me. When my first wife died... you were the only one who didn't look at me like a ghost.”
Nathan’s expression twitched. A bitter smile touched his lips.
“Yes, Dom. I took a bullet. I buried your first wife. I managed your accounts while you played king of New York. And what did I get for it? A corner office, a pat on the head, and a front-row seat to watch you hand over half of Vance Global to a social-climbing corporate heiress like Claire.”
Claire gasped, her head snapping toward Nathan. “Nathan! What are you saying? You agreed—!”
“Shut up, Claire,” Nathan snapped, his eyes flashing with sudden venom. “You couldn't even keep the maid quiet! If you had checked the west wing properly before locking the door, the kid wouldn't have heard her!”
Dominic watched them tear into each other with clinical detachment. The illusion was completely shattered. The brotherhood, the loyalty, the years of shared blood—all of it had been traded for greed and resentment.
“So that’s what this was,” Dominic said quietly. “You wanted the syndicate. You and Claire.”
Nathan turned back to Dominic, leaning forward over the arms of the chair.
“We didn't just want it, Dom. We earned it. You’ve gone soft over the last three years. Ever since you started playing legitimate—investing in real estate, cozying up to federal prosecutors, letting your guard down. The families are laughing behind your back. They think Vance Global is ripe for the taking.”
“And the offshore accounts?” Dominic asked. “You wanted the floor safe codes?”
“We needed them to finalize the asset transfer before your wedding next month,” Claire chimed in, her voice losing its sweet fragility, replaced by the sharp, piercing tone of a corporate shark. “Once we married, I would have had legal control over thirty percent of your holdings. Nathan had the rest lined up through shell companies in the Caymans. Within six months, you would have been an impoverished retiree living in exile—or dead in an unfortunate hunting accident.”
Dominic listened to the blueprint of his own assassination without blinking.
May you like
“You planned to kill me too,” he stated.
“Of course,” Nathan said smoothly. “You’re too dangerous to leave alive, Dom. Even retired, people would rally behind you. The accident was scheduled for the night you returned from Atlantic City. Unfortunately, your flight got in twelve hours early, and the kid caught us moving Mia.”
