Chapter 5
The technical specialist moved quickly, pulling a sleek, encrypted tablet from his suit jacket. He stepped cautiously over the shattered glass and extended a cable, connecting it directly to the tiny camera still resting in Domenico’s hand. The bright, neutral white lighting of the reception hall illuminated the sweat forming on Adrian’s brow.
"Accessing the local storage now, Boss," the specialist reported, his fingers flying across the screen. "It’s a high-capacity continuous loop. It’s been transmitting to a remote server, but it keeps a backup copy on the device."
"Play the most recent audio file from my private office," Domenico ordered, his voice dead calm.
The specialist tapped the screen. A moment later, clear, high-definition audio echoed across the silent room.
"The offshore accounts are fully funded," Domenico’s own recorded voice played back, sounding distant. "The transfer to the Swiss accounts will finalize on the 14th."
Then, a second voice played—Adrian’s voice, speaking softly, obviously standing in another room entirely while monitoring the feed.
"Did you get the account numbers?" Adrian’s recorded voice asked.
"I have them," Genevieve’s recorded voice replied, her tone dripping with greedy satisfaction. "Once the transfer clears on the 14th, we route it to the shell company in Chicago. We drain him dry. Without the capital to pay the capos, Domenico’s support will collapse in a week. We take the seat by the end of the month."
The recording clicked off.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to suffocate the entire room. Dozens of loyal capos and bodyguards stared at Adrian and Genevieve, the undeniable proof of their treason laid bare in the bright afternoon sun. To plot against the Don was a death sentence; to attempt to bankrupt the entire syndicate and steal the throne was an act that guaranteed a closed-casket funeral.
"You were going to steal the family’s capital," Domenico whispered, his cold eyes unblinking as he stared down at his aunt. "You were going to bankrupt the men in this room to fund your own coup."
"Domenico, please!" Adrian begged, scrambling backward on the marble floor until his back hit the ruined drinks console. "The Chicago syndicate pressured us! They said if we didn't help them bankrupt you, they would wipe us out! We did it to save the family!"
"You did it because you are cowards," Domenico stated, his deep voice slicing through the pathetic excuse. "And because you are greedy."
He turned his head slightly, looking at Genevieve, who was weeping hysterically among the crushed flowers.
"But the theft of my money is entirely secondary," Domenico murmured, walking slowly toward her. The polished leather of his shoes crunched over broken stems. "You struck my child. You put your hands on my blood to protect a plastic camera."
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"I was panicked!" Genevieve sobbed, holding her hands up defensively. "I didn't mean to hurt her, Domenico! She wouldn't stop asking questions!"
"She is three years old," Domenico said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "And because of you, she learned what fear feels like in her own home."
