Chapter 4 - The Presentation in the SuiteBy 3:00 PM, the heavy mahogany double doors of the Drake's top-floor suite swung open.
Dominic Genovese—a broad, forty-five-year-old man wearing a heavy leather trench coat, his face flushed with arrogant rage—marched into the room flanked by four broad-shouldered lieutenants carrying heavy sidearms beneath their jackets.
Dominic stopped ten feet from the dining table, his dark eyes sweeping over the white linen, the crystal wine glasses, and Dante standing tall near the center of the room.
"Dante!" Dominic bellowed, his voice loud, rough, and laced with aggressive posturing. "You dragged my brother Sal to the South Side warehouse like a dog! Sal served your father for twenty years! You can't execute a senior capo based on the word of some pencil-pushing female accountant!"
Dominic glared directly at me where I sat calmly near the window, holding my tablet.
Dante took a slow, deliberate step forward.
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't raise his voice. He simply stood between Dominic and my chair, his broad six-foot-three frame completely obscuring me from Dominic’s sight, his storm-gray eyes burning with a dark, lethal fire that made Dominic’s guards take an involuntary step backward.
"Watch your tongue, Dominic," Dante’s baritone rumbled, low, soft, and terrifyingly cold. "You are speaking about the Chief Financial Officer of the Chicago Outfit."
Dominic scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "I don't care if she's the Pope, Dante! The South Side crew generates twelve million a year for this family! You can't accuse us of stealing without absolute proof!"
I stood up slowly from my chair, stepping out from behind Dante's broad shoulder, holding my tablet flat in my hand.
"Account Number #8841 at First Cayman Bank, Mr. Genovese," I spoke cleanly into the quiet room. My voice carried an unyielding, velvet power that echoed off the high ceiling. "Registered under Genovese Maritime LLC."
Dominic’s arrogant posture froze instantly. The color began to drain from his ears.
"At nine forty-two this morning," I continued, tapping the screen once to project the bank records onto the room's high-definition display monitor, "a wire transfer of two million, one hundred and forty thousand dollars was executed from Marino Logistics primary reserve into that account. The digital signature used was registered to your private laptop in Oak Lawn."
Dominic swallowed hard, his throat clicking loudly as he stared at the red numbers flashing across the screen. "That... that's a fake ledger! She forged it!"
"The IRS auditor, Agent Vance, verified the routing code twenty minutes ago, Dominic," Dante added smoothly, taking a slow step closer to the trembling capo. "The same IRS auditor you thought you could use to trigger a federal raid on my terminals."
Dominic’s hands began to shake violently against his leather coat. He reached frantically toward his inner holster.
THWIP!
Before Dominic’s fingers could touch leather, Frank fired a single suppressed round from behind the doorway, punching cleanly through Dominic’s right shoulder, knocking him flat onto his knees right on the Persian rug in the center of the suite.
"ARGH!" Dominic groaned in agony, clutching his bloody arm as his four lieutenants immediately dropped their weapons onto the floorboards, raising their hands in total surrender.
Dante looked down at Dominic groveling on the floor, then looked down at the blood dripping onto the carpet.
May you like
He turned his storm-gray eyes slowly toward me, a dark, amused glint shining in his eyes.
"Don't worry, Emily," Dante promised softly. "We'll deduct the steam-cleaning surcharge directly from his Cayman account."
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