Chapter 8
The subterranean levels of the Coleman estate were a stark contrast to the brilliant, cinematic lighting of the upper floors. Here, the air was cool, smelling of damp concrete and age. Harsh, industrial fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting long, sharp shadows across the reinforced walls. This was the domain where the true power of the syndicate was enforced.
Dominic descended the concrete stairs, his tailored dark suit blending perfectly into the shadows. He approached a heavy, soundproof steel door at the end of the corridor. Two of his most trusted bodyguards stood at attention on either side.
"He’s secured, Boss," the lead guard reported, opening the heavy deadbolt. "The doctor wrapped his ribs. He is in agonizing pain, but he will live."
"Good," Dominic said softly. "Wait out here."
Dominic stepped into the holding cell. The room was bare, save for a single metal table and a heavy chair bolted to the floor. Michael Coleman sat in the chair, his hands secured behind his back. The thirty-nine-year-old brother looked pathetic. His expensive dress shirt was torn and stained with sweat, his fair, rosy skin pale and slick with panicked perspiration. He wheezed with every breath, his shattered ribs protesting any movement.
Michael looked up as Dominic entered, genuine, unadulterated terror flashing in his eyes.
"Dominic," Michael gasped, spitting a small amount of blood onto the concrete floor. "You can't keep me down here. I am a made man. The capos will ask questions."
Dominic walked slowly around the metal table, dragging a wooden chair across the floor. He sat down directly across from his brother, resting his arms on the table. The heavy family signet ring on his finger caught the harsh overhead light.
"The capos," Dominic began, his voice a low, terrifying rumble, "are loyal to the man who pays them, protects them, and leads them. You offer none of those things."
"I was trying to make the family stronger!" Michael argued desperately, leaning forward and wincing in pain. "You are too sentimental! You let that old woman drain our capital! I was going to secure the future of the syndicate!"
"You put a dog leash on our mother," Dominic stated, the cold, lethal calmness in his voice stripping away every excuse Michael tried to formulate.
"Hattie did that!" Michael cried out, desperately trying to shift the blame. "She was unhinged! I just walked into the room! I didn't stop it, but it was her idea!"
Dominic let out a slow, dark chuckle that contained absolutely no humor. "You are a coward, Michael. You always have been. You hid behind my reputation to gain your rank, and you hid behind my wife to execute your cruelty. But cowards do not act without guarantees."
Dominic leaned closer, his intimidating, sharp eyes locking onto his brother’s terrified gaze.
"You and Hattie are not smart enough to orchestrate a coup on your own," Dominic whispered, the controlled pauses highlighting his absolute, terrifying intellect. "You wouldn't dare challenge me unless you believed you had backing. Unless someone powerful promised to support your claim to the throne once I was removed."
Michael froze. The color drained entirely from his lips. He realized his older brother had seen right through his pathetic rebellion.
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"Tell me," Dominic commanded softly, the threat of impending, horrific violence hanging heavy in the small room. "Who is pulling your strings? Who promised you my seat?"
Michael swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically around the barren cell, realizing he was trapped between a vengeful brother and a ruthless conspiracy.
