Chapter 3 - The Execution at the DocksAt 11:30 PM, the freezing wind over the East River whipped heavy snow across the concrete apron of Pier 42 in Brooklyn.
Inside the cavernous, heated interior of Warehouse 7—a facility owned exclusively by my private logistics trust—the atmosphere was thick with the scent of sea salt, diesel, and impending judgment.
Sitting bound to an iron chair in the center of the concrete floor was Leo Vance.
At fifty-five, Leo was a broad, weathered enforcer who had served the Moretti family for thirty years. His tailored suit was rumpled, his lip bleeding, his dark eyes darting frantically around the shadow-draped warehouse where twelve of my most elite strike operators stood with drawn weapons.
Standing ten feet away, wrapped in an ankle-length cashmere overcoat, was my mother, Eleanor Moretti.
She looked pale, her aristocratic chignon falling apart, her diamond earrings catching the harsh overhead halogen lights as she clutched her mink coat around her shoulders, weeping frantic, dramatic tears.
"Dominic! Please!" Eleanor shrieked, her voice echoing off the high steel rafters. "I am your mother! I did it for you! I did it to protect the Moretti name! That girl was a nobody! She was a waitress! She would have ruined your reputation in high society!"
I walked out from the shadowed office corridor, my heavy leather dress shoes clicking sharply against the concrete floor.
I wore a dark suit, my hands tucked into my pockets, my six-foot-three frame cutting a terrifying, sovereign shadow across the warehouse floor. Flanking me was Marco, holding a thick leather briefcase.
I stopped three feet from my mother.
"You didn't do it for the family, Mother," I stated, my voice calm, flat, and chillingly devoid of emotion. "You did it because you wanted to control me. You couldn't control Mara, so you paid Leo Vance to threaten a pregnant twenty-two-year-old girl."
"Dominic... please..." Leo Vance rasped from his iron chair, spitting blood onto the concrete floor. "I was following your mother's direct orders... she showed me the trust papers..."
"You took fifty thousand dollars of my money, Leo," I murmured, taking two slow steps toward him, my gray-blue eyes locking onto his face with a cold, absolute fury. "You told the woman I loved to terminate my four unborn sons. You made my children sleep in a storage room."
"I'm sorry, Boss! I'm sorry!" Leo whimpered, his heavy frame trembling violently against his iron restraints. "I'll leave New York! I'll never come back!"
"You're right, Leo," I whispered softly, leaning down until my face was inches from his pale, sweating forehead. "You're never coming back."
I gestured subtly to Marco.
Marco pulled out two certified corporate documents stamped by the State Attorney General's office and dropped them flat onto the steel table beside my mother.
"These are full confession ledgers detailing your illegal embezzlement from the Moretti charitable trust over twelve years, Leo," Marco revealed cleanly. "The Federal Bureau of Investigation is waiting outside the gate."
Leo's jaw dropped in absolute, horror-stricken shock. He realized in a single fraction of a second that he wasn't being executed with a bullet—he was being sentenced to spend the remaining twenty-five years of his life in a federal penitentiary, stripped of his pension, his assets, and his name.
I turned my eyes onto my mother.
Eleanor shrank back, her hands trembling as she looked at the cold, unyielding judgment in my face.
"As for you, Eleanor," I said, using her first name for the very first time in my life. "Your proxy rights over the Moretti estate are permanently revoked. You will move to the family's cottage in upstate New York tomorrow morning. You will receive a monthly allowance managed by my legal team. And if you ever attempt to contact Mara or my sons again... I will cut that allowance to zero."
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"Dominic! You can't banish your own mother!" Eleanor screamed, falling to her knees on the concrete floor, sobbing hysterically as two security officers guided her toward a waiting sedan. "I am your mother!"
"My mother died six years ago when she stole my sons," I said softly, turning my back on her as the heavy steel doors of the warehouse slammed shut.
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