Chapter 9 - Family Dinner at the EstateAn hour later, the black fleet of Vale security vehicles rolled through the wrought-iron gates of Vincent Vale’s sprawling Greenwich estate—a mansion twice as grand and ten times more ostentatious than Dominic’s.
It was 5:30 a.m. The sky was just beginning to streak with pale pink and grey over the horizon.
I had refused to stay behind, insisting that I drive with Dominic in the lead vehicle. As we parked in the grand circular driveway, the estate was entirely dark, save for a single light burning in the study on the second floor.
Dominic stepped out of the SUV, adjusting his cuffs. Marcus and six armed operatives fanned out silently, securing the perimeter exits before anyone inside even realized they were surrounded.
Dominic didn't wait to knock. He walked straight up to the heavy mahogany front door, raised his boot, and kicked it inward with a deafening crash. The lock splintered, and the door swung wide open.
We strode into the grand foyer. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting glittering reflections across marble floors.
“Vincent!” Dominic’s voice echoed through the empty halls, calm, terrifying, and laced with absolute venom.
Footsteps hurried down the grand staircase. Vincent Vale appeared on the landing, dressed in a silk bathrobe, his silver hair neatly combed, looking bewildered and indignant.
“Dominic? What the hell is the meaning of this? Have you lost your mind breaking into my home at—?”
“Come down here, Uncle,” Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. “We need to talk about logistics.”
Vincent froze on the stairs. He looked past Dominic and saw Marcus standing by the doorway with a silenced pistol resting casually at his side. Color drained entirely from Vincent’s face.
Slowly, step by step, Vincent descended the staircase, clutching the wooden banister for support.
“I don't know what kind of game you’re playing, nephew—” Vincent started, trying to force a weak, grandfatherly smile.
“Arthur is in my basement,” Dominic said, cutting him off completely. “And he’s feeling very talkative this morning.”
Vincent stopped three steps from the bottom. His knees buckled slightly, but he caught himself. The mask of innocence vanished, replaced by a bitter, snarling sneer.
“That coward,” Vincent spat. “I should have dealt with him ten years ago.”
Dominic took a slow step forward, towering over his uncle on the stairs. “You killed my sister. You killed Sofia because she found out you were stealing from the family.”
“She was a foolish, naive little girl!” Vincent shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. “She was going to ruin everything we built! She was going to hand our entire empire over to the federal prosecutors because of some bleeding-heart obsession with honesty!”
“She was my sister,” Dominic whispered, his fist clenching so hard his knuckles turned white.
“And I am your blood!” Vincent sneered, stepping down to eye level. “You think you can just come in here and touch me? The commission will tear you apart! The board will vote you out before the sun sets!”
“The board won't have to,” Dominic said coldly. “Because as of four minutes ago, Marcus transmitted the unedited audio files of Sofia’s voice note, along with Arthur’s full confession, to every federal prosecutor, board member, and crime syndicate leader in the tristate area.”
Vincent’s face turned the color of ash. “You... you exposed the family?”
“I purified it,” Dominic corrected.
Before Vincent could lunge, Marcus and two guards moved in with lightning speed, slamming plastic zip-ties around Vincent’s wrists and forcing him down onto the marble floor.
“You’re finished, Dominic!” Vincent shrieked as they dragged him toward the door. “You’ll rot in prison for this!”
“No, Uncle,” Dominic replied, watching him coldly. “You will.”
As they hauled Vincent out into the cold morning air, the heavy silence of the estate settled back over the room—not the suffocating, grief-ridden silence of the past ten years, but a clean, quiet stillness.
Dominic stood alone in the foyer, staring up at the grand chandelier. He looked exhausted, older, but for the first time in a decade, the haunted shadow in his eyes was entirely gone.
I walked over, standing quietly beside him.
“It’s over,” I said softly.
May you like
Dominic turned his head and looked down at me. He reached out, his warm fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“No,” he said, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips for the very first time. “It’s just beginning.”
