Chapter 7 - The Serpent in the Inner Circle
The peace didn't last.
While we were at the gala, back at the Romano estate, a quiet betrayal was unfolding in the shadows.
Dominic, one of my oldest capos—a man who had ridden with me since the early days—had grown bitter. He believed my attachment to Elena and Lily was making the syndicate weak. He had quietly met with Don Salvatore earlier that week, trading intelligence on our warehouse locations in exchange for a guaranteed cut of the North Side territory once I was out of the picture.
The betrayal was discovered at 4:00 a.m. on Friday.
Marcus intercepted an encrypted transmission originating from Dominic’s private phone, detailing the coordinates of our primary arms depot in Gary, Indiana.
When Dominic walked into my study at noon, expecting his usual briefing, he found me sitting behind my desk, holding his encrypted phone in my hand.
The study doors were locked. Marcus stood behind Dominic, his shotgun resting casually against his shoulder.
Dominic stopped dead in his tracks, the color draining from his face.
"Boss," Dominic stammered, forcing a nervous smile. "You're... you're up early."
"Not early, Dominic," I said softly, my voice devoid of any human warmth. "Just observant."
I tossed the phone onto the desk. It slid across the wood and stopped at his feet.
Dominic swallowed hard, his knees suddenly turning to water. "Adrian, let me explain—"
"Explain what?" I interrupted, standing up slowly. I towered over him, every inch of my brutal reputation pressing down on the room like a physical weight. "That you sold our routes to Salvatore? That you decided a child in my house was worth more than the loyalty of fifteen years?"
"You've gone soft!" Dominic suddenly snapped, his fear giving way to desperate rage. "The whole underworld is laughing at you! You're playing dad to a maid's brat while Salvatore builds an army to crush us!"
Before Dominic could finish his sentence, I moved.
In a flash of motion, I vaulted across the desk, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the heavy oak bookshelves. Books rained down around us like dead leaves. My hand tightened around his windpipe until his face turned a bruised, ugly purple.
"Never," I whispered, my voice a lethal hiss inches from his ear, "speak of her that way again."
May you like
I released my grip. Dominic collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, clutching his throat.
"Marcus," I said coldly, not even looking down as I straightened my cuffs. "Take him to the basement. Tell the boys to prep the car. We're going to visit Don Salvatore. And we're going to finish this war tonight."
