Chapter 7 - The Last King of Boston
We took the metal spiral staircase leading to the second-story communications suite three steps at a time.
Dominic moved with a terrifying, unnatural momentum—a man living on borrowed time and pure, unadulterated vengeance, his heavy shotgun resting against his hip as Agent Miller covered our rear with her Glock.
When Dominic kicked open the heavy iron door of the control room, the hinges tore completely free from the rusted frame.
Julianna Costello was standing behind a wall of glowing server racks, holding a satellite phone in one hand and a silver laptop in the other. A high-speed satellite upload bar on her screen was at 94%.
Beside her stood two Manhattan executives in expensive suits, their faces pale with shock as they looked at the man they thought was lying near death in a federal hospital bed.
"Dominic..." Julianna whispered, her voice finally losing its icy composure. She stepped back against the server cabinet, her silk scarf fluttering in the cold air blowing through the shattered window. "You... you should be dead."
"I was dead, Julianna," Dominic said, stepping into the room, his dark eyes fixated entirely on his wife. "I died three months ago when I smelled the thallium on your skin every time you kissed my cheek and prayed for my heart to stop."
"It was business, Dominic!" Julianna screamed, dropping the satellite phone as her composure completely shattered. "You were holding us back! The city is changing! The old families are dust! Vanguard offered us fifty million dollars for the pier rights!"
"They offered you fifty million," I said, stepping out from behind Dominic, holding the heavy leather ledger high enough for her to see in the dim light of the server monitors. "And they offered Vincent a six-foot hole in the ground the moment the contracts were signed."
Julianna looked at the ledger, then at me, her eyes widening in pure, hysterical rage.
"You..." she spat, taking a step forward, her fingers curling like talons. "You pathetic little servant! You ruined everything! You were supposed to be nothing!"
"I was the cleaning lady, Julianna," I said quietly, stepping up beside Dominic. "I see where the trash hides."
Dominic raised the heavy shotgun and pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The blast didn't hit Julianna; it shattered the central processing unit of the satellite server terminal behind her in a violent shower of sparks, blue flames, and molten copper!
The upload bar on the laptop screen instantly froze at 98%—then flickered and died into a dark error screen.
TRANSFER FAILED. CONNECTION TERMINATED.
The two Vanguard executives dropped their leather briefcases and put their hands on their heads, dropping to their knees on the metal floor as Agent Miller stepped forward with plastic zip-ties.
Julianna sank onto the floor beside the smoking server rack, her face covered in black soot, her designer dress ruined, her eyes staring blankly at the destroyed equipment that represented her lost empire.
Dominic stood over her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths. He didn't look angry anymore. He just looked old, tired, and deeply sad.
May you like
He slowly reached down, unpinned the small gold cross she wore on her lapel—a family heirloom passed down through three generations of Boston shipping owners—and slipped it into his pocket.
"Take her away, Agent Miller," Dominic said softly, turning his back on his wife forever. "The state can have what's left of her."
