Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
The transition from boardroom politics to street-level violence happened in less than a second.
Before Nathan could reach for the concealed firearm beneath his blazer, Dominic closed the distance between them, driving a brutal, unyielding fist straight into Nathan’s jaw. The sound of bone cracking echoed off the console room walls. Nathan stumbled backward, crashing into the metal equipment racks before collapsing hard onto the floor, blood pooling against the polished floorboards.
“Don't move,” Marcus barked, stepping forward and kicking Nathan’s dropped pistol across the room.
Claire shrieked, covering her face and sliding down the side of the monitors until she sat in a trembling heap on the floor.
Dominic stood over Nathan, breathing heavily, his knuckles raw and bleeding. He looked down at the man he had trusted like a brother for nearly two decades. The betrayal didn't just sting; it burned away the last remnants of mercy in his soul.
“Marcus,” Dominic said, wiping blood from his knuckles with a handkerchief.
“Boss?”
“Take Claire to the East Wing. Lock her in the guest suite. Double the guards outside her door. She stays there until the federal marshals arrive in the morning to pick her up on federal wire fraud and conspiracy charges.”
Claire let out a muffled sob. “Dom, please! My father will—!”
“Your father’s shipping empire is already being seized by the Attorney General’s office as we speak,” Dominic interrupted without looking at her. “Marcus, get her out of my sight.”
“Move,” Marcus ordered, pulling Claire roughly to her feet and escorting her out of the console room, leaving the heavy oak doors open to the hallway.
Nathan spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, pushing himself up on one elbow. He looked up at Dominic with a defiant, bloodstained grin.
“You think locking me up solves anything, Dom?” Nathan wheezed, wiping his lip. “The syndicate isn't yours anymore. The capos in New York, the union leaders in Boston, the politicians in Albany—they’re all tied into the Whitlock logistics network. If I go down, I take half your empire with me.”
“Let them go,” Dominic said coldly. “I’d rather burn the empire to ash than let it be run by rats.”
He knelt down beside Nathan, grabbing him by the collar of his blood-stained shirt and hauling him upright.
“You had seventeen years of loyalty, Nathan. You had a home at my table, a share in every victory, and a brother in arms. And you traded it all for a cut of drug money and a corrupt shipping contract.”
“Power isn't given, Dom,” Nathan choked out, laughing weakly through his pain. “It’s taken.”
“Then enjoy taking it from a prison cell.”
Dominic shoved Nathan back against the rack, signaling the remaining guards. “Take him down to the holding cells in the basement. Throw him in the exact same cell Mia was locked in. Let him see how long three days feels without light.”
As the guards dragged Nathan away, screaming curses down the marble hallway, the mansion finally grew quiet.
The storm outside had cleared, leaving behind the cold, crisp silence of a Hudson Valley dawn.
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Dominic stood alone in the center of the console room. The screens still glowed with lines of financial data and security logs. For the first time in years, he felt the profound, crushing weight of his own isolation. He had built a fortress to keep the world out, but the greatest threats had been sitting at his own dining table.
He turned off the main monitors, walked out of the room, and headed down to the medical wing on the ground floor.
