Chapter 8 - The Ledger’s Secret Weapon
Dominic turned his intense gaze back toward Vince Russo, who was still struggling weakly against Marco’s grip on the damp concrete.
“Vince, is it?” Dominic asked, his voice smooth and lethally polite.
“Yeah—look, Moretti, I don't want no trouble with you or your crew,” Vince stammered, his eyes darting frantically toward the churning black waters of the East River. “Just give us the girl, give us the book, and we walk away clean. Nobody has to get—”
Before Vince could finish his sentence, Dominic’s right hand whipped out with terrifying speed.
He didn't pull a gun. Instead, he grabbed Vince by the throat with one hand, lifting the heavy-set man a full two inches off the ground with pure, effortless upper-body strength.
Vince clawed frantically at Dominic’s wrists, his face turning a deep, dangerous shade of purple as his air supply was ruthlessly cut off.
“You think,” Dominic whispered, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with suppressed fury, “that you can track my employees, trespass on my private transit routes, and bring violence within fifty feet of my property because you lost a little accounting book?”
“Boss... can’t... breathe...” Vince choked out, his legs kicking uselessly in the empty air.
“Marco,” Dominic commanded coldly without breaking eye contact with the gasping man.
“Yeah, Dominic?”
“Make a call to our contacts in the federal prosecutor’s office in Newark and the district attorney in Manhattan. Tell them we have a voluntary, highly cooperative witness from Ohio who is desperately eager to hand over a complete, unredacted financial ledger detailing two decades of interstate money laundering, extortion, and illegal dock smuggling.”
Vince’s eyes bulged out of his skull in sheer, unadulterated terror.
“No! Not the feds! You can't do that!” Vince shrieked the moment Dominic loosened his grip just enough to let him gasp for air. “That book puts away half our bosses! They’ll kill me inside a week!”
“That,” Dominic said smoothly, dropping Vince unceremoniously back onto the wet concrete where he collapsed into a coughing, retching heap, “is a conversation you can have with federal marshals.”
Dominic turned his back on the whimpering enforcer, walking back toward me and Lily with measured, unhurried strides.
He stopped directly in front of us, towering over my trembling frame in the cold rain.
“Clara,” he said, his voice softening by a fraction of a degree—just enough to make my heart skip a terrifying beat.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?” I whispered, terrified to look him in the eye.
“Your luggage is currently sitting in the trunk of the Maybach,” he noted matter-of-factly. “Inside it is a battered canvas suitcase with a hidden bottom lining.”
My face drained of what little color remained. “How did you—?”
“Marco checked your room while you were packing this morning. Security protocols,” Dominic explained simply, though a faint, ghost-like smirk touched the corner of his lips. “He secured the ledger. It’s currently locked inside my private office safe, away from every loan shark, federal agent, and rival syndicate boss in the country.”
I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You... you didn't destroy it? Or hand it over?”
“Information of that magnitude is far too valuable to hand over to amateurs or federal prosecutors without getting something substantial in return,” Dominic replied smoothly, stepping closer until his body heat cut through the freezing autumn wind. “And besides... it seems your late father kept meticulous records of every single person who ever threatened his family. Including the men who tried to muscle him out of his workshop.”
A profound, shattering wave of relief crashed over my chest, so powerful that my knees nearly buckled beneath me.
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“Thank you,” I whispered, tears spilling over my eyelashes. “Thank you, Mr. Moretti.”
“Don't thank me yet, Clara,” Dominic replied, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned right through my soul. “We still have an Ohio wedding to attend.”
