Chapter 8 - The Iron Hand
The black convoy of Maybachs tore through the Chicago streets, sirens flashing beneath their grills, cutting through evening traffic with terrifying efficiency.
Within fifteen minutes, the cars screeched to a halt outside the grand entrance of Aster House.
Before the doorman could even process what was happening, Gideon and four armed security operatives swarmed through the front doors, securing the perimeter in absolute silence.
The diners in the main hall froze as a squad of dark-suited men fanned out across the room, blocking all exits.
Dominic Carver strode through the double doors like an executioner entering a throne room. Behind him walked Nora, her heart hammering against her ribs, flanked by two guards.
Randall Pierce stepped out from the kitchen doorway, holding a tray of hors d'oeuvres, his face instantly draining of all color when he saw Dominic.
“M-Mr. Carver!” Randall stammered, dropping the tray with a deafening crash of shattered porcelain. “What is the meaning of this? This is a private establishment—you can't just barge in here with armed men—”
Dominic walked right up to him. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't yell. He simply reached out, grabbed Randall by the lapels of his expensive suit, and hoisted him off the floor with effortless strength.
“You poisoned the reserve Cabernet in the cellar at 7:14 PM,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register so chilling that every conversation in the dining room died instantly.
Randall’s eyes bulged with pure, unadulterated terror. “I—I don't know what you’re talking about! I’m the manager! I protect this place!”
“Marcus Vance paid you twenty thousand dollars to sabotage my family’s restaurant,” Dominic continued, his grip tightening until Randall was choking. “And in doing so, you were willing to poison innocent civilians.”
Randall looked frantically around the room, hoping someone would save him, but the diners were pressed against their chairs, too terrified to breathe.
“Nora!” Randall shrieked, spotting her standing behind Dominic. “Nora, tell them! Tell them I’m a good manager! Tell them this is a mistake!”
Nora stepped forward. She looked at Randall—the man who had belittled her, threatened her, and fired her without a second thought. There was no joy in her face, only a deep, profound sadness.
“You weren't a good manager, Randall,” Nora said clearly, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “And you certainly weren't a good man. You traded people's lives for a handful of dirty cash.”
Dominic looked down at Randall one last time, disgusted.
“Gideon,” Dominic barked.
May you like
“Boss?”
“Take him to the federal prosecutor’s office. Drop him at the front steps with the bank deposit slips and the security footage. Let the law handle the poisoning charges. And as for his partnership with Marcus Vance...” Dominic’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Let Vance know I’m coming for his entire shipping fleet by midnight.”
