Chapter 8
Dominic’s desperate charge was fueled by pure, blinding adrenaline. He closed the distance between himself and Matteo in a fraction of a second, his hands reaching out to grab the Don by the neck, intending to tackle him to the ground and force a chaotic struggle.
Matteo did not even turn around.
The bodyguards, highly trained and anticipating exactly this kind of desperate retaliation, moved faster. One of the massive men stationed by the door stepped laterally, intersecting Dominic’s path with the force of a freight train. The bodyguard drove a heavy, reinforced forearm directly into Dominic’s chest, stopping his momentum instantly.
Dominic gasped, the air violently expelled from his lungs. Before he could recover, the bodyguard grabbed him by the lapels of his tailored suit, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the heavy mahogany dining table.
Crystal glasses shattered. Silverware scattered across the wood. Dominic’s fair face bounced off the polished surface, blood instantly blooming from his nose.
Two more bodyguards descended upon him, grabbing his arms and violently wrenching them behind his back. The sharp, mechanical sound of heavy zip-ties ratcheting tight echoed in the bright room. Dominic thrashed wildly, his polished leather shoes kicking against the table legs, but he was entirely powerless against the sheer muscle of Matteo’s elite enforcers.
"Hold him," Matteo commanded softly.
He finally turned around, walking slowly toward the table where his cousin lay pinned. Matteo looked down at Dominic, his expression entirely devoid of anger, pity, or malice. It was the face of a man completing a necessary administrative task.
"You said you would make it quick!" Dominic sobbed, blood running down his chin, staining the pristine white tablecloth. "You gave me your word, Matteo!"
"I gave you my word that your passing would be swift," Matteo clarified, his low, raspy voice perfectly calm. "I did not say it would happen today."
Dominic’s eyes widened in sheer, uncomprehending terror. "What do you mean?"
"A quick death is a mercy for a loyal man who makes a tragic mistake," Matteo explained, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed rhythmically. "Treason requires a thorough investigation. I need to know exactly how much you compromised my logistics network. I need to know the names of the mercenaries you hired. And I need to know if you sold any of my secrets to the rival families."
"I didn't!" Dominic shrieked. "I swear to God, it was an internal job!"
"We will find out," Matteo said smoothly. He looked at his lead enforcer. "Take him to the soundproof holding facility beneath the east wing. Inform the interrogation team they have exactly three weeks to extract every piece of information in his head. Keep him alive until I say otherwise."
"Yes, Boss," the enforcer nodded.
May you like
"No! Matteo, please! Just kill me!" Dominic screamed, thrashing hysterically as the bodyguards hauled him off the table and dragged him toward the service elevator. "Matteo! Shoot me! Shoot me!"
His screams faded down the long hallway, leaving only the soft hum of the air conditioning and the terrified, ragged breathing of Helena Bellini.
