Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
Dominic Caruso stepped out from the dark alcove behind the massive oak desk, wearing his dark suit vest, his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets.
Julian spun around, his face draining of all color in a fraction of a second. "Dominic? What... what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Manhattan!"
"Manhattan was loud," Dominic said softly, walking slowly toward his cousin. "And I missed my home. Especially the library."
Julian's two guards instantly reached inside their heavy coats, but before their fingers could touch leather, Marco and three armed security operatives stepped out from the hidden butler's pantry behind them.
Click-click.
Four tactical submachine guns were leveled directly at the back of Julian's men's heads.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," Marco commanded coldly. "Or we paint the walnut paneling."
Julian's guards slowly raised their hands into the air, stepping away from their boss.
Julian swallowed hard, his arrogant composure completely shattering as he looked from Marco's gun barrels back to Dominic's calm, stone-like face.
"Dominic... listen to me," Julian stammered, holding up his hands defensively. "This is a misunderstanding. My mother told me the house needed structural repairs—"
"My house doesn't need structural repairs, Julian," Dominic cut him off, his voice dropping into that terrifying, icy register. "It needed a clean-up. Sixty years of it."
Dominic reached out, grabbing the velvet curtain covering the broken wall panel, and yanked it down with a sudden, violent movement.
The splintered walnut wood and the yawning black entrance to the subterranean vault were laid bare before Julian's eyes.
Julian stared at the dark hole in the wall, his jaw trembling violently. "You... you opened it."
"I didn't open it," Dominic said, gesturing slightly toward me as I stood safely near the library threshold. "Miss Bennett opened it. The residential specialist your mother hired to do your dirty work."
Julian turned his head, glaring at me with pure, poisonous hatred. "You little bitch..."
Before Julian could finish the sentence, Dominic stepped forward with terrifying speed. He grabbed Julian by his silk-lined collar, lifted him two inches off the floor, and slammed him back against the solid wood wall beside the hidden door.
THUD.
The heavy frame of the library rattled. Julian let out a choked gasp of pain, his hands clawing uselessly at Dominic's iron grip around his neck.
"Speak to her like that again," Dominic whispered, his face inches from Julian's bleeding lip, "and I won't send you to federal prison. I'll throw you down that shaft and let you sleep beside Aunt Elena."
Julian's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. "Elena... you found Elena?"
"We found her diary, Julian," Dominic said, his dark eyes burning with a lethal fire. "We found the original Swiss bank routing codes. We found the records of every payment your mother received from my uncle Silvio to keep her mouth shut about where his money came from."
Julian began to weep—a pathetic, whimpering sound that echoed pathetically through the grand library. "Dominic, please! It was my mother! She made me do it! She said the offshore funds belonged to our branch of the family!"
Dominic looked at his cousin with absolute, glacial disgust. He let go of his collar, letting Julian collapse onto the hardwood floor in a pathetic heap.
"Marco," Dominic commanded, stepping back and wiping his hands with a clean white handkerchief. "Take his phone. Call Aunt Rosa at the Drake Hotel. Tell her that her son has just signed over all his shares in Caruso Maritime Curation and Logistics."
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"And if she refuses, boss?" Marco asked, racking the slide on his weapon.
"Tell her," Dominic said, looking down at Julian, "that if she doesn't sign the transfer documents within one hour, the federal prosecutor in Chicago gets a copy of Elena's diary."
