Chapter 6
Dominic was not a stupid man, but he was an impatient one. And impatience breeds sloppiness.
It had been four days since the dinner incident. Dominic had kept his distance—offering no apologies, making no visits. Instead, he made a move.
Vincent sat in the dim light of the library, staring at the flashing cursor on his secure messaging app. The message was from Leo, an old-school dock foreman who had been loyal to Vincent’s father.
Three containers moving tonight. Pier four. Dom bypassed the union. No cut for the family. Using Russian muscle.
Vincent’s jaw muscles feathered.
Dominic wasn’t just skimming anymore. He was going rogue—moving product through Vincent’s territory, using foreign muscle, and cutting the Corvino family out of the profits entirely. It was a blatant declaration of war.
Before the bullet, Vincent would have driven down to Pier Four himself, put a gun to Dominic’s head, and thrown him into the lake. Now he had to use his mind. He had to remind them that the brain was the deadliest organ in the body.
“Tessa.”
She emerged from the hallway, carrying a tray with his evening medications and a glass of scotch. She had traded the blue scrubs for a pair of dark slacks and a tailored black button-down. She looked less like a maid and more like an executive assistant.
“Set up the secure line,” Vincent ordered. “Call Dominic. Tell him to come to the house.”
Tessa set the tray down. She didn’t ask questions. She picked up the encrypted satellite phone Vincent kept in the top drawer and dialed the number from memory.
Vincent watched her. She held the phone to her ear, her face completely passive.
“Dominic, it’s Tessa. Mr. Corvino needs to see you at the estate. Now.”
She paused, listening to the voice on the other end. Her eyes flicked to Vincent.
“He doesn’t care if you’re eating dinner. He said now. Come to the library entrance.”
She hung up.
“He’s pissed,” she reported, setting the phone down. “Said he’ll be here in twenty.”
“Good. Let him be pissed.”
Vincent rolled his chair over to the heavy oak desk. He opened a lower drawer and pulled out a leather-bound ledger, tossing it onto the desk.
“He thinks because I can’t walk, I can’t reach him.”
Twenty-five minutes later, the heavy library doors swung open.
Dominic stepped inside. He wore a sharp gray suit, his top button undone. He looked around the room, taking in the monitors, the medical screen in the corner, the thick files on the desk. He looked uneasy.
The library didn’t feel like a sick room. It felt like a war room.
Tessa stood behind Vincent’s chair, her hands clasped behind her back.
“You called, boss?” Dominic said, walking toward the desk. He didn’t sit. He stood tall—a subtle assertion of physical dominance over the man in the chair. “I was in the middle of a sit-down with the Southside crew. Trying to keep the peace, since you—well, since you’ve been out of commission.”
Vincent didn’t look up immediately. He slowly opened the leather ledger. He flipped a few pages.
“Pier Four, Dom,” Vincent said softly.
Dominic stopped halfway to the desk. His shoulders stiffened.
“What about it?”
“Three containers moving tonight. Bypassing the union. Using Russian muscle.”
Vincent looked up. His eyes were flat, dark, and devoid of any humanity.
“You’re running private shipments through my port. Using my infrastructure. And pocketing the gross.”
Dominic let out a short, nervous laugh. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Vince, you got it wrong. It’s a side thing. Small potatoes. I was going to bring you in on the back end once the logistics were smoothed out. You’ve been stressed, man. I was handling it.”
“You’re stealing from me.” Vincent’s voice never raised above a conversational tone. That was what made him terrifying. “You’re using the power vacuum you think exists to line your own pockets and build alliances with the Bratva.”
Dominic’s face hardened. The pretense of respect vanished. He took a step closer to the desk, leaning his knuckles on the wood, looking down at Vincent.
“Let’s be real here, Vince.” His voice dripped with condescension. “You’re done. You sit in this chair all day having your nurse wipe your ass. The men respect strength. They respect a guy who can actually stand up and fight for them. You think you can hold the city together with a laptop and a phone? The Russians are moving in. If I don’t make deals with them, they’ll roll right over us. I’m saving this family.”
“You’re a parasite,” Vincent said smoothly.
Dominic’s face flushed purple. He reached inside his suit jacket.
Tessa didn’t scream. She didn’t flinch. She simply shifted her weight, dropping her hand into her slacks pocket, wrapping her fingers around the cold steel of the snub-nosed .38 Vincent had given her two days ago.
But Vincent didn’t need a gun.
“Pull it, Dom.” Vincent’s voice was a whisper. “Pull the gun. Shoot a paralyzed man in his own home. See how long you last on the street. The Commission will have you skinned alive before sunrise for breaking the rules.”
Dominic hesitated. His hand hovered over his holster, his chest heaving. He was trapped. He couldn’t kill the boss without sanction. And he couldn’t back down without looking weak.
Vincent reached forward and tapped a key on his laptop.
“I don’t need to stand up to crush you, Dominic. I just need a Wi-Fi connection.”
He turned the laptop monitor around so Dominic could see it. On the screen was a live feed of Pier Four. The three shipping containers sat under the halogen lights. Surrounding them were twenty heavily armed men wearing black tactical gear.
But they weren’t Russians.
They were the Corvino family’s forces. Led by Paulie and Frank.
Dominic’s face drained of color.
“What did you do?”
“I made a few phone calls,” Vincent said, leaning back in his wheelchair. “I told Paulie and Frank that you were selling them out to the Russians. I showed them the bank transfers you’ve been making to offshore accounts—money you stole from their cuts. They were very disappointed in you, Dom.”
Dominic stared at the screen, watching his illegal shipment being seized by the very men he thought he controlled. His breathing became shallow. Panicked.
He looked at Vincent, finally seeing the monster that had built the empire in the first place. The wheelchair disappeared. All Dominic saw was the devil.
“Vince—” Dominic stammered, taking a step back. “Vince, come on. We grew up together. I was just trying to keep the money flowing.”
“Tessa.” Vincent didn’t take his eyes off his underboss.
“Yes, Mr. Corvino.”
“Call the front gate. Tell the guards to let Dominic’s car through.” Vincent paused, letting the silence stretch until it threatened to snap. “He’s leaving Chicago tonight. If he’s still in the city limits by sunrise, call Paulie. Tell him to handle it.”
Dominic swallowed hard. He looked from the laptop to Vincent, to Tessa standing like a stone sentinel behind the chair.
He had been beaten without a single punch being thrown.
He didn’t say another word. He turned and walked out of the library, his posture defeated.
When the door clicked shut, the heavy tension in the room finally broke.
Vincent exhaled, rolling his neck, trying to release the agonizing tension in his upper back. He looked at the screen, watching his men secure the harbor.
He was back. He was broken. He was confined to a chair. But he was the king again.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Light. But firm.
He looked up. Tessa was looking down at him. There was no fear in her eyes. Only a profound, silent respect.
“Your scotch is getting warm, boss,” she said softly.
May you like
Vincent looked at her, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a genuine, tired smile. He reached up and placed his large hand over hers where it rested on his shoulder.
“Then pour me another one.”
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