Chapter 5 - The Midnight Alliance at the DocklandsBy midnight, the digital evidence had been independently verified by a forensic accountant friend of Tessa’s. Paul Moretti wasn't just skimming; he had been funneling Russo syndicate funds directly into federal accounts tied to an impending RICO indictment that was scheduled to drop against Dominic in less than a month.
Dominic hadn't been targeted by bad luck; he was being served up on a silver platter by his own right-hand man.
When Dominic saw the final audit report on the kitchen island at 2:00 a.m., the color completely drained from his face. The cold, impenetrable mob boss vanished, leaving behind a man realizing his entire fortress had been built on quicksand.
“Paul arranged the warehouse raids last month,” Dominic murmured, his voice hollow as he stared at the glowing tablet screen. “He told me Adrian’s men were moving in on our territory. It was a setup to start the war.”
“And you walked right into it because you trusted titles over truth,” I said, standing across the island from him, pouring myself a cup of black coffee.
Dominic looked up, his gray eyes searching my face with a depth of vulnerability I had never seen before.
“You saved my life,” he said quietly. “After everything I’ve put you through... after treating you like a prisoner... you just handed me the names of the men trying to put me in a federal penitentiary.”
“I didn't do it for you,” I replied coldly. “I did it so I could break this marriage legally and walk away without looking back. Once Paul is dealt with, our deal is void. My father’s debt is paid in full by corporate intelligence.”
Dominic flinched as if I had struck him across the face with a lead pipe. He didn't argue. He just nodded once, acceptance cutting a deep groove into his jawline.
“There’s just one problem,” Dominic said, his tone turning tactical. “If I move against Paul openly tonight, his loyalists inside the syndicate will trigger a civil war before sunrise. To take him down cleanly, I need access to the South Side shipping manifests currently held in a secure vault at Adrian Cross’s primary warehouse.”
I stopped mid-sip of my coffee. “Adrian Cross’s warehouse? Dominic, you’re at war with him!”
“Which is why I can’t walk in there,” Dominic said, stepping closer to me. “But you... you made quite an impression at his party wearing that red dress, Claire. Cross respects audacity. He thinks you hate me enough to listen.”
“You want me to go ask your worst enemy to help us?”
“I want us to go together,” Dominic corrected softly. “An emergency truce. For one night.”
Two hours later, standing inside the damp, cavernous brick interior of Adrian Cross’s South Side shipping depot, I felt completely out of my depth.
Adrian sat perched on the edge of a mahogany crate, spinning a silver pocket knife between his fingers, watching Dominic and me stand side-by-side in the middle of the loading bay.
“Let me get this straight,” Adrian said, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his face. “The great Dominic Russo walks into my domain at three in the morning, unarmed, asking my help to take down his own rat because his brilliant wife figured out the math?”
Dominic’s jaw clenched, but he didn't reach for his gun. He kept his posture stiff, controlled. “Paul Moretti is trying to trigger a war between us to cover his own embezzlement. If he succeeds, the feds take both our empires by the end of the month.”
Adrian hopped off the crate, walking slowly in a circle around us. He stopped right in front of me, his dark eyes sparkling with wicked amusement.
“And what do I get out of this alliance, Claire?” Adrian asked, ignoring Dominic entirely. “If I hand over the manifests that prove Paul framed me, Dominic stays in power, and your ungrateful husband gets to keep his crown.”
I held Adrian’s gaze, feeling Dominic tense beside me.
“You get peace on the waterfront,” I said steadily. “And you get the satisfaction of knowing you helped a woman secure her freedom from a bad marriage.”
Adrian stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then, a sudden, booming laugh echoed off the concrete walls.
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“God, I love a woman with a death wish,” Adrian grinned, tossing a heavy brass key ring through the air toward Dominic, who caught it reflexively. “Safe room B, third aisle, bottom locker. The manifests are all there. Go clean house, Dom.”
Adrian stepped closer to me, lowering his voice. “And if you ever decide you’re truly tired of living in a cage, Claire... my door is always unlocked.”
