Chapter 2 - The Logic of Traitors
The rain began at noon, heavy drops hammering against the high leaded glass windows of the estate.
In the basement holding area beneath the wine cellar, Sophia Romano sat on a wooden chair, her hands still bound. The air was damp and cold, smelling of earth and old oak barrels.
The door heavy iron hinges groaned as Dominic walked in alone, holding a brass key.
He didn't speak. He stepped behind her and unlocked the handcuffs, letting them drop to the concrete floor with a heavy clatter.
Sophia rubbed her bruised wrists, her eyes flashing with a mixture of rage and hurt. "You kept me in chains for two hours, Dominic."
"I kept you in chains because my men were watching," Dominic said, pulling a second wooden chair across from her and sitting down. "If I had released you immediately, Victor’s captains would have thought you confessed under duress. Now tell me the truth, Sophia. Who altered the lining of that dress?"
"I don't know!" Sophia cried, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "The dress was delivered from the atelier in Milan three days ago! It was kept in a locked garment bag in the estate’s secondary vault until seven this morning! Only two people had the key code to that vault!"
"Who?"
"My father," Sophia said, her lip trembling. "And your lieutenant... Marcus."
Dominic’s jaw tightened until the muscles worked beneath his skin. "Marcus had the vault code?"
"You gave it to him yourself, Dominic! Three weeks ago, when we were organizing the security protocols for the delivery of the bridal jewels!"
Dominic stood up slowly, walking to the narrow barred window near the ceiling. The pieces were fitting together, each one more toxic than the last.
For twelve years, Marcus had been his left hand. He had managed the family's books, sat at Dominic's dinner table, and stood beside him when they buried Dominic's uncle. Dominic had known Marcus carried grief over his father's execution—a mistake made during the brutal reign of the older generation—but he had believed twelve years of loyalty had healed the wound.
He had been a fool.
"He didn't want you to kill me, Sophia," Dominic said softly, realization dawning on him like a dark stain. "He wanted my security to kill you when the gun was found. Or... he had a sniper positioned outside to shoot me during the vows, leaving you holding the weapon inside the estate."
Sophia gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "My father would have burned Chicago to the ground if I was killed or framed here."
"And my captains would have eradicated every Romano within three states," Dominic added coldly. "By tomorrow night, neither of our families would have had enough living men left to hold a funeral. And Marcus would have walked into the vacuum as the only man capable of restoring order."
The iron door banged open, and Ethan hurried down the stone steps, his face pale, his breath ragged.
"Boss," Ethan said, his hand resting on his gun. "We have a massive situation upstairs."
"Speak," Dominic commanded.
"Victor Romano just drew a weapon on Captain Rinaldi in the courtyard. A firefight broke out near the west gate. Two of our men are down, three of theirs. Victor has pulled his men back into the reception tent and is threatening to execute the catering staff if Sophia isn't produced in five minutes."
"Where is Marcus?" Dominic snapped.
Ethan’s eyes flicked nervously toward the open door. "Marcus took six men and went to the upper floor, Boss. He said he was going to 'secure the witnesses' before the Romanos breached the house."
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Dominic’s blood turned to fire. The witnesses.
"Claire and the child," Dominic growled, already sprinting toward the stairs. "Ethan, get Sophia into the secure study! Do not let anyone near her!"
