Chapter 5 - The Uninvited Guests
Dominic’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Whose cars?”
“They carry commercial plates registered to an equipment leasing company in Evanston,” Claire replied, opening her notebook to a neatly hand-written page. “Inside the house, those plates mean nothing. But I clean the windows in the second-floor library every Tuesday. Two weeks ago, I saw those same three sedans parked outside the private residence of Salvatore Genovese.”
A collective intake of breath sounded around the table.
Salvatore Genovese was the chief enforcer for the North Side Syndicate—the oldest, most ruthless rival outfit in Cook County. For ten years, a tense, bloody boundary line had held between the Moretti territory in the south and Genovese’s operations in the north.
Frank Bellini leaned forward, his heavy hands trembling slightly against the table. “Genovese? Vincent was bringing the North Side into this house?”
“Vincent didn't just bring them into the house, Frank,” Dominic said, the pieces of the puzzle snapping into place with terrifying speed. “Vincent sold us out to them. The six million dollars he moved to the Caymans wasn't just for him and Keller. It was the entry fee to hand the South Side distribution lines over to Genovese once I was dead.”
Dominic looked up at Claire. “How many men are in those sedans?”
“Eight,” Claire answered without hesitation. “Two in each car, plus two standing inside the side entrance by the generator room. They came through the delivery gate at seven o'clock while the kitchen staff was bringing in the dinner crates. Joseph, the gate guard, let them in without logging their badges.”
Dominic turned his glare toward Joseph Rossi—the capo who owed him three million in bail money.
Joseph jumped up from his chair, his face white as paper. “Dom! I swear to God I didn't know! Vincent told me they were private security detail hired to guard the estate while you were in the hospital! He said it was standard procedure!”
“Private security from the North Side?” Dominic sneered. “You’re either a traitor or an idiot, Joseph. And I don't keep either in my house.”
Dominic gestured to Frank Bellini. “Take his gun. Put him in the pantry until we’re done.”
Frank stood up, pulled Joseph’s weapon from his shoulder holster with one quick movement, and forced the trembling capo into the small dry-goods pantry off the main kitchen, locking the heavy brass latch from the outside.
Dominic turned back to Claire. “Eight armed men from Genovese’s crew on my property. They’re waiting for Vincent to come out with signed authority papers.”
“Precisely,” Claire said. “If Vincent walked out with those papers, you were never meant to leave this house alive tonight, Mr. Moretti. They were going to dispose of your body in the furnace room and claim you died from surgical complications following your discharge.”
Dominic leaned back in his leather chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the carved wooden arms. The physical agony in his thigh was still a dull, throbbing fire, but his mind was sharp, cold, and entirely focused on survival.
“They don't know Vincent failed,” Dominic observed. “They’re sitting in the dark waiting for a signal.”
“The signal is a green porch light over the service entrance,” Claire added, pointing toward the rear wall of the dining hall. “Vincent’s driver turns it on from the main switchboard in the hallway once the documents are signed.”
Dominic looked at the thirty remaining capos and lieutenants sitting at the table. They were seasoned, violent men who had survived decades of gang warfare, but right now, they were rattled, disorganized, and terrified of the federal wire charges and the North Side invasion.
They needed a leader who didn't hesitate.
Dominic picked up his black ebony cane and stood up from his high-backed leather chair. This time, he didn't drag his left foot. He forced his body to obey through sheer, ruthless willpower, standing tall and imposing at the head of the long table.
“Frank,” Dominic commanded.
“Ready, Dom.”
“Take six men down the west corridor to the generator room. Don't shoot unless they draw first. I want those two guards outside the service entrance alive if possible. I want to know what Genovese promised them.”
“Got it,” Frank said, waving his hand at six heavy-set soldiers who immediately drew their weapons and followed him out the side exit.
Dominic looked at Claire. “Where is the switchboard for that porch light?”
“Behind the umbrella stand in the main foyer,” Claire said. “I can flip it for you.”
“No,” Dominic said, a cold, dangerous smile touching his lips for the first time all night. “We don't turn on the green light, Claire. We turn on the red emergency floodlights over the driveway.”
Claire’s gray eyes brightened with a touch of quiet appreciation. “The security shutters on the driveway gates close automatically when the red lights are triggered.”
“Exactly,” Dominic said. “If Genovese sent eight men onto my land, I’m not letting a single one of them drive back to the North Side to tell him what happened.”
Dominic turned to Paulie and the remaining lieutenants. “Draw your pieces. We’re going out to the driveway.”
Paulie pulled a heavy black Glock from his jacket, his earlier arrogance entirely replaced by a nervous, eager desire to prove his loyalty. “What about the maid, Dom? She coming with us?”
Dominic looked at Claire, who was currently reaching inside her domestic cleaning cart parked near the pantry door.
From beneath a stack of folded yellow microfiber towels and bottle sprayers, Claire pulled out a polished, short-barreled 12-gauge Remington shotgun that had been resting quietly on the bottom shelf of her cart for fourteen years.
She checked the breach with a swift, mechanical clack-clack, ensuring a heavy brass shell was loaded in the chamber.
She looked up at Paulie with a calm, flat expression.
“I’m right behind you, Paulie,” Claire said softly. “Try not to step in front of my barrel.”
Paulie swallowed hard, taking two steps back to give her a wide berth.
May you like
Dominic let out a low laugh that echoed through the high timber rafters of the hall. He adjusted his grip on his cane, holding his silver revolver in his right hand.
“Let’s go clean house,” Dominic said.
