Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Queens
By midnight, the Long Island estate was shrouded in heavy rain, thunder rumbling across the Atlantic skyline.
Dominic sat in his private study on the third floor, a glass of amber scotch resting untouched on his heavy mahogany desk. Spread out before him were dozens of crime scene photographs, police reports, and private intelligence files from the afternoon Isabella was killed.
September 14, 2025.
A rainy Tuesday afternoon at a busy intersection in Queens. Three stolen sedans had boxed in Isabella’s armored SUV. Six shooters with automatic rifles had opened fire.
Dominic had hunted down every single man connected to that ambush. The Mendoza organization had been wiped off the map. He had personally overseen the destruction of their leadership, line by line, until no one was left to claim responsibility.
So why had Lucia said those words?
A soft knock at the door broke his thoughts.
Leo stepped into the study, carrying a thick black folder. He set it down on the desk beside the scotch.
“Clara Vance is clean, boss,” Leo reported quietly. “Her story checks out completely. Raised in Brooklyn, worked two jobs to pay her brother’s hospital bills, no ties to any syndicate, family, or law enforcement agency. Mrs. Bennett hired her through an agency that specializes in trauma care.”
Dominic rubbed his face with both hands, feeling the bone-deep fatigue that had claimed his soul fourteen months ago. “Then where did Lucia get those words, Leo? A four-year-old child doesn't invent an accusation like that out of thin air.”
Leo hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Boss... could she have heard someone say it?”
Dominic raised his head, his eyes burning dark and sharp. “What are you saying?”
“The Mendoza hit wasn't clean, Dominic,” Leo said, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. “We wiped them out, but we never found out how they knew Isabella’s exact route that afternoon. Her preschool pickup schedule was kept strictly confidential. Only five people in our inner circle had those GPS coordinates.”
A chilling silence settled over the study.
Dominic stood up slowly, the blood running cold in his veins. The realization hit him like a physical blow: for fourteen months, he had assumed the Mendoza cartel had tracked Isabella on their own. But if someone inside his own organization had supplied the route...
And if four-year-old Lucia had been in the car, or had overheard a conversation before the shooting...
“Get the surveillance tapes from the house for the three days leading up to the ambush,” Dominic commanded, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. “Every hallway, every phone line, every gate log.”
“Boss, those tapes were archived in our downtown vault after the police cleared the estate,” Leo reminded him. “It will take a few hours to pull the encrypted drives.”
“I don't care if it takes all night,” Dominic snapped. “Bring them to me.”
May you like
As Leo turned to leave, Dominic looked back down at the photo of Isabella’s ruined SUV.
If there was a traitor in his house, and if that traitor was the reason his wife was dead and his daughters were broken... he wouldn't just kill them. He would make them suffer until hell itself seemed like a mercy.
