Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Dark
The wail of the alarms shook the ancient foundation of the house. Outside, floodlights snapped on, illuminating the sprawling lawn and the dark tree line bordering the Long Island Sound.
I didn't waste a second.
I drove my fist into Marcus’s jaw, knocking him completely unconscious, then zip-tied his wrists and ankles with heavy industrial ties from behind the bar. I disarmed the two wounded guards, dragged them into the wine cellar, and bolted the iron reinforced door behind them.
"Where are the girls?" I demanded, turning to Grace as we hurried down the hall.
"In the north suite, hidden in the panic closet behind the bathroom mirror," Grace said. Her breath was steady despite the chaos. "They have water and ear protection."
"You knew the house had bugs?" I asked, stopping her by the wrist. My grip was tight, demanding answers. "Who the hell are you, Grace? No ordinary housekeeper spots military-grade surveillance in a nursery."
Grace met my stare without flinching. "My father was Captain Thomas Bennett. New York State Police, Organized Crime Division. He spent twelve years trying to put you and Marcus Vance behind bars."
A jolt went through my spine. "Thomas Bennett died four years ago. A hit-and-run in Albany."
"It wasn't a hit-and-run," Grace whispered, her voice tightening with a pain that mirrored my own. "It was Marcus Vance’s crew. They cut his brake lines. My father died with a ruined reputation because Marcus planted bribes in his bank account. I took this job two months ago to find the evidence my father couldn't. I wanted to destroy Marcus."
She pulled her wrist from my grip.
"I didn't come here to save your criminal empire, Dominic," she said, looking me dead in the eye. "I came for justice. But then I met your daughters. I saw three broken, terrified little girls who were being haunted by the same monster that killed my father. And I realized they needed a protector more than I needed revenge."
The siren continued to scream overhead. Heavy thuds sounded from the front gates—vehicles ramming through the wrought iron.
"Do you know where the evidence is?" I asked.
"Isabelle hid it," Grace said quickly. "The girls told me in whispers yesterday, before they ever sang. They said Mommy put the 'shiny silver key' inside the base of the music box in the library. The one with the dancing ballerina."
My chest contracted. The music box. It was a gift I had given Isabelle for our tenth anniversary. It sat on the center mantelpiece in the library, completely untouched since her death.
"Get the girls," I told her. "Take them down to the secondary basement—beneath the wine cellar. There’s an old bootlegger tunnel that leads out to the boathouse on the Sound. Take the keys to the Boston Whaler. If I don't join you in twenty minutes, take the boat, head across to Connecticut, and call this number."
I grabbed a business card from my pocket, scribbled a private code on the back, and thrust it into her hand. "It connects directly to Frank Valenti. He’s the only capo left who would die for my father’s memory. He will protect you and the girls."
"Dominic," Grace said, stopping me as I turned toward the library.
"What?"
"Don't die," she said softly. "They just got their father back. Don't make them lose you twice."
The words struck deeper than any bullet ever could. For fourteen months, I had been a ghost walking through their lives, buried under my own grief, blind to their suffering. I had thought money and silence could heal them.
I was wrong. What they needed was a father willing to kill the monsters under their beds.
"Get them to safety," I said. "I'll clear the house."
I sprinted back into the library just as the first front windows shattered in the foyer.
Heavy gunfire erupted. High-caliber rounds chewed into the ornate plaster of the ceiling, spraying dust and shards of glass everywhere.
I dove behind the mahogany desk, reached up, and snatched the ballerina music box from the mantle. I smashed the wooden base against the corner of the desk.
The mahogany splintered.
Out tumbled an encrypted military-grade USB drive and a handwritten letter folded into a tight square.
On the outside of the paper, in Isabelle’s elegant, familiar script, were four words:
*For Dominic. Forgive me.*
I jammed the drive and the letter into my vest pocket, drew the Kimber in my right hand, and grabbed an automatic tactical shotgun from the wall rack behind the false bookshelf.
Footsteps heavy with tactical gear stormed through the shattered foyer.
"Clear the ground floor!" a voice shouted. "Find Vance and execute Romano! Leave no witnesses!"
I racked the shotgun with a thunderous clatter that echoed through the vast library.
May you like
"Come and get me, you bastards," I muttered, and stepped out from the shadows into the war zone.
***
