Chapter 3 - BLOOD ON THE LINE
The grand foyer of the Moretti mansion smelled of ozone, damp stone, and gun oil.
The front doors were bolted shut, but the heavy glass panels rattled under the relentless fury of the rain. Dominic stood at the base of the double marble staircase—the very staircase where, hours earlier, Hannah had bled for Elena’s mirror. Four of Dominic’s most trusted capos, men who had served his late father, stood in the shadows with tactical carbines aimed at the heavy double doors.
“Open it,” Dominic ordered.
The iron bolts clicked back. The heavy door groaned open, letting in a gust of cold, wet wind.
Adrian Moretti stepped inside.
He was two years younger than Dominic, taller and leaner, with the same sharp Moretti jawline and piercing grey eyes, but his face was gaunt, his clothing drenched from the rain. He wore a dark wool coat that dripped onto the white marble. His hands remained strictly visible, palms open.
“Dominic,” Adrian said, his voice raspy from lack of sleep.
“Search him,” Dominic barked.
Two capos moved forward, patting Adrian down with ruthless efficiency. They removed a single nine-millimeter pistol from his waist holster, three magazines, and a pocketknife, laying them on a side table.
“He’s clean, Don Dominic,” the captain reported.
Dominic raised his Sig Sauer, aiming the barrel directly between his brother’s eyes. The distance between them was less than ten feet.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn't paint this wall with your brains right now,” Dominic said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “Hannah Collins is upstairs. Margaret Vale is alive. And I have Elena’s handwritten note from the lockbox.”
Adrian didn't flinch. He didn't drop his hands. He looked straight down the barrel of Dominic’s weapon, a bitter, exhausted smile playing on his lips.
“Because if you kill me, Dominic, you’ll never find Margaret Vale before Richard Sterling’s hit squad cuts her throat in that clinic.”
Dominic’s finger tightened on the trigger. “What did you say?”
“You think I was working for Richard?” Adrian spat, taking a step forward despite the gun pointed at his skull. “You arrogant, blind bastard! Look at the files in that envelope!”
Adrian threw the white waterproof envelope onto the floor at Dominic’s feet.
“Look at them!” Adrian yelled, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “I was in the garage the morning Elena fell because Vanessa called me! She told me Elena had uncovered evidence that our father was murdered by the Sterlings back in 2018! She lured me out to the west garage to keep me away from the main house!”
“And what did you see when you ran inside?” Dominic demanded, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage.
“I heard the crash,” Adrian said, tears mixing with the rain streaming down his face. “I sprinted up the service stairs. I saw Elena at the bottom. But standing at the top of the landing... it wasn't Vanessa. It was Thomas Cole. Richard Sterling’s chief enforcer.”
Dominic felt a cold shockwave ripple through his chest.
*Thomas Cole.* A merciless ex-military contractor who handled the Sterlings’ wet work.
“Thomas had a syringe in his hand,” Adrian continued, his voice shaking. “He told me that if I opened my mouth, if I went to you with the truth, Richard had three snipers trained on your convoy every single day. They had wiretaps on your office. They had planted explosives under your car at the downtown marina. Richard told me that if I made one wrong move, you’d die, and the Sterlings would seize the entire Moretti syndicate through the legal courts using the forged foundation agreements!”
Dominic stared at his brother. “And what were you burning in the brazier when Margaret Vale saw you?”
“The security server hard drives!” Adrian shouted. “Thomas Cole ordered me to burn the footage of him entering the house! If I didn't burn them, he was going to execute Elena’s mother in her nursing home! But I didn't destroy them, Dominic! I swapped the drive with a blank one! The drive in that envelope has the high-definition footage of Thomas Cole pushing Elena down the stairs while Vanessa stood at the top, holding the tea tray!”
A heavy silence descended upon the foyer. Even the hardened capos in the shadows exchanged horrified looks.
Dominic looked down at the envelope. With a subtle nod, his captain stepped forward, picked up the flash drive, and plugged it into a tactical rugged tablet.
Ten seconds later, the screen illuminated the dimly lit foyer.
The video was clear as day.
Dated October 18, 2021. 8:42 AM.
The video showed Elena backing away from the landing, clutching a leather binder to her chest. Thomas Cole, wearing leather gloves, stepped forward and violently shoved her backward over the polished banister.
The scream had no audio, but the visual violence was sickening. Elena fell.
And then, stepping into the camera frame with a cold, dead expression on her face, was Vanessa Sterling. She looked over the railing at Elena’s motionless body, adjusted her cardigan, and poured a cup of lukewarm tea over the stairs to simulate a slip.
Dominic lowered his gun.
His vision blurred with a mix of blinding tears and catastrophic rage. The woman he had shared a bed with for the past two years, the woman who had pretended to mourn Elena at his side, was the architect of his wife’s brutal murder.
“Dominic,” Adrian said quietly, his voice cracking. “We don’t have time for a family tribunal. An hour ago, one of Richard Sterling’s shell companies chartered two private helicopters from Teterboro to a regional airfield outside Elgin, Illinois. They found Margaret Vale’s clinic. If we don’t move now, Hannah’s mother won’t live to see the sunrise.”
Upstairs, the door to the master suite clicked open.
Hannah stood on the second-floor mezzanine, looking down at the two brothers. She had heard everything. Her hands gripped the iron railing, her face pale as marble.
“My mother,” Hannah whispered, her voice echoing down into the cavernous hall. “Dominic... please.”
Dominic looked up at her. In that moment, all hesitation vanished from his soul. The mafia don who had built an empire through calculated violence was entirely consumed by a singular, righteous purpose.
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“Suit up,” Dominic commanded Adrian, tossing his brother his confiscated weapon back. “Get the private jet prepped at Westchester. We are going to Illinois. And when we return... the Sterling family ceases to exist.”
***