Chapter 2 - The Phantom in the House
The morning arrived without sun.
A thick grey fog rolled off the Long Island Sound, smothering the estate in damp, freezing air. By six o'clock, the main house was usually filled with the subtle movements of household staff, security briefings in the library, and the rhythmic clicking of keycards.
Dominic did not sleep.
He sat behind his heavy mahogany desk in the ground-floor study, dressed in the same crisp white shirt from the night before, his dark tie undone and hanging loosely around his collar. An untouched glass of scotch sat beside a mountain of intelligence folders regarding the Marcone family’s encroachments on the Brooklyn piers.
Usually, his mind worked like a precision Swiss clock—calculating threats, tracking supply lines, identifying weak links among his captains.
Today, his mind kept returning to an empty closet.
The door to the study opened quietly. Leo, his consigliere and closest confidant for twenty years, stepped inside holding a leather tablet. Leo was a grey-haired man with severe features, a tailored grey suit, and eyes that had seen three generations of Moretti bloodlines rise and fall.
Leo stopped mid-stride, taking in Dominic’s appearance.
“You didn't go to bed,” Leo noted dryly.
Dominic didn't answer. He stared at the brass desk lamp. “Where is she?”
Leo adjusted his glasses, letting out a slow, heavy breath. He set the tablet down on the mahogany surface. “She took the morning train from Oyster Bay at twelve-forty. She didn't use a taxi. She walked three miles through the rain to the station.”
Dominic’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes flashing with sudden rage. “She walked? In that storm? Where were the patrol cars?”
“Frank and Thomas were on duty,” Leo replied, his tone entirely even. “When I questioned them at dawn, Frank told me his radio had a bad battery. Thomas claimed he was checking the perimeter fence on the south lawn.”
Dominic slammed his palm against the desk, making the scotch glass ring like a bell. “They let her walk into the dark in the middle of a storm!”
“They respect her, Dominic,” Leo said quietly.
The simple sentence hung in the air, heavy and poisonous.
Dominic stood up, pacing behind the desk like a caged panther. “Respect her? They answer to me! I pay their salaries! I keep their families fed!”
“You pay their wages,” Leo corrected gently, picking up his tablet. “Naomi remembered their names. When Frank’s mother was dying, you sent a corporate fruit basket. Naomi spent four hours sitting in the hospital waiting room with him so he wouldn't be alone when the doctor came out. There is a difference between authority and loyalty, Dominic. You built the authority. She earned the loyalty.”
Dominic felt a strange, cold knot twist inside his gut. He looked away, staring out the reinforced glass window at the foggy gardens.
“Track her phone,” Dominic ordered.
“She left her phone on the kitchen counter,” Leo said. “Along with her engagement ring, her wedding band, her black card, the keys to the Porsche, and the deed to the beach house in Montauk.”
Dominic turned back slowly. “She left the ring?”
Leo reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small black velvet box, and set it softly on the desk. He flipped the lid open with his thumb.
Inside lay the eight-carat emerald-cut diamond ring Dominic had purchased in Antwerp four years ago. Beside it sat the simple platinum wedding band.
Dominic stared at the cold, glittering stone. In his world, women used rings as collateral. They fought for property settlements, offshore accounts, alimony, security details.
Naomi had walked away with a brown leather bag worth fifty dollars.
“Where did she go, Leo?” Dominic demanded, his raspy voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. “Find her. Now.”
“She’s in Queens,” Leo said. “A small apartment in Astoria. Second floor above a bakery. It belonged to her grandmother.”
Dominic grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair, throwing it on in one swift motion. “Get the cars.”
Leo did not move. “Dominic, think for a moment. The Marcone family is watching our every move right now. Vincent Marcone has three hit squads active in Queens and Brooklyn. If you roll up to a quiet residential block in Astoria with four black Escalades and eight armed enforcers, you draw a target directly on her back.”
Dominic stopped, his hands gripping the lapels of his coat.
The reality of his world—the violent, bleeding reality he had kept separate from his home for three years—suddenly threatened to swallow her whole.
“She thinks she’s safe because she left me,” Dominic rasped, his knuckles turning white. “She doesn't understand that to the rest of the city, she is still a Moretti.”
“Then go alone,” Leo suggested softly. “Or leave her be until we settle the Brooklyn dispute.”
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Dominic looked at the black velvet box on his desk, his jaw clenching until the bone throbbed.
“I’m going to Queens,” Dominic said.
