Chapter 7
The capo walked briskly across the stone floor, his dark suit impeccable, and placed the sealed plastic bag directly onto Domenico’s desk. Inside the bag rested a sleek, black burner phone.
"What is that?" Conrad asked, his voice suddenly pitching an octave higher. The arrogant flush vanished from his fair skin, replaced by a sheen of cold, terrified sweat.
"We tossed his vehicle, Boss, just like you ordered when we brought them down here," the capo reported, his American accent sharp and professional. "We found this secured in a magnetic lockbox beneath the passenger seat. The encryption was basic. We broke it in ten minutes."
"Thank you, Marcus. Wait outside," Domenico commanded softly.
The capo nodded and left the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
Domenico did not touch the plastic bag. He merely looked at it, then raised his intimidating, cold eyes to his cousin. "A burner phone, Conrad. Hidden in a magnetic box under your car. A man who manages legitimate shipping logistics does not require encrypted burner phones hidden from his own family."
"It's... it's for a mistress," Conrad stammered frantically, his hands gripping the armrests of the leather chair. "My wife tracks my primary phone! You know how she is, Dom! I just needed a private line!"
"A mistress," Domenico repeated, the slow, measured pace of his words stretching the tension to its absolute breaking point. "Let us test that theory."
Domenico reached out, unsealed the plastic bag, and slid the black phone onto his desk. He tapped the screen, his heavy signet ring clicking against the glass. He navigated to the messaging application and opened the most recent thread.
"The last message was sent thirty minutes ago," Domenico read aloud, his raspy voice devoid of any emotion. "'The distraction is set. I will cause a scene at the party. Move the shipment through port four while the security detail is focused on the estate.'"
Miriam gasped, turning her horrified gaze toward her nephew. "Conrad... what have you done?"
"It's a lie!" Conrad shrieked, standing up from his chair. "Someone planted that in my car! I am being framed!"
"Sit down," Domenico whispered. The command was so absolute, so dense with lethal authority, that Conrad’s knees buckled. He collapsed back into the leather chair, trembling violently.
"You weren't just throwing a temper tantrum," Domenico said, the pieces of the puzzle locking together perfectly. "You needed a distraction. You needed my bodyguards focused on a domestic dispute so you could move unauthorized cargo through my ports without my capos inspecting the containers."
"Dom, I swear to God—"
"Who were you moving the cargo for, Conrad?" Domenico asked, leaning slightly forward. "Who paid you to betray your blood?"
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Conrad shook his head wildly, tears of absolute panic welling in his eyes. "I can't tell you! If I tell you, they will kill my wife! They will kill my son!"
"If you do not tell me," Domenico promised, his voice a dead, hollow certainty, "you will not live long enough to care."
