Chapter 3 - The Confession in the Dark**
We didn't take Dominic to the basement cells beneath the townhouse. We took him down to the old brick warehouse by the South Boston waterfront—the same place where legends of the underworld went to vanish.
The rain lashed mercilessly against the cracked warehouse windows, casting long, dancing shadows across the concrete floor where Dominic sat tied securely to a heavy steel chair. His tailored suit was rumpled, a thin sheen of cold sweat glistening across his forehead, but his jaw remained stubbornly clenched.
I stood a few feet away, leaning against an iron support beam, watching him through a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“Who else?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
Dominic spat a wad of blood onto the concrete, letting out a harsh, gravelly chuckle. “Go to hell, Roman. You think I acted alone? You think a multi-million-dollar empire runs on the loyalty of one man? Half your captains are tired of your hesitation. They’re tired of you playing king while Chicago eats our shipping lanes.”
“Names, Dominic,” I repeated, stepping closer. “Or I stop asking.” ☕
“Do it,” Dominic sneered, glaring up at me with defiant hatred. “Kill me. But it won't change the truth. Your wife knows too much. And even if you lock me away, the others are already moving. By morning, your little family in Revere won't be safe anymore.”
At the mention of Claire and the unborn baby, something inside me snapped. The cold, calculated mafia boss evaporated, replaced by the raw, feral fury of a man whose world had been threatened.
I grabbed Dominic by the collar of his ruined shirt, hauling him forward until our faces were inches apart.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I hissed, every word laced with poison. “If a single hair on my wife’s head is harmed—if anyone so much as breathes near that basement in Revere—I won’t just kill the men responsible. I will hunt down their families, burn their properties to ash, and salt the earth where they stood. Do you understand me?”
Dominic’s bravado finally fractured. The cold terror in his eyes confirmed what my gut had been screaming for months: he wasn't bluffing about the conspiracy within my ranks.
Before I could press him for the remaining names, my burner phone buzzed violently in my coat pocket.
I yanked it out and answered on the first ring.
“Boss!” It was Marcus, the head of the security detail I had secretly stationed outside Claire’s apartment in Revere. His voice was frantic, drowned out by the sound of shouting and screeching tires in the background. “We’ve got a Code Red! Two unmarked black sedans just pulled up outside the building! Armed men unbolted the basement door! They’re going in!”
My heart slammed against my ribs with terrifying force.
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“Hold the perimeter!” I roared into the phone, sprinting toward the exit of the warehouse. “Do not let them out of that building! I’m three minutes away!”
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