Chapter 2 - The Accountant’s Shadow
The grandfather clock in the hallway struck four with a deep, resonant chime that seemed to echo through Dominic’s very bones.
Vincent Vance.
For fourteen years, Vince had been more than an accountant. He was the architect of the Romano ledger, the man who laundered millions through a labyrinth of legitimate shell corporations while keeping the IRS, the FBI, and rival families equally blind. When Isabelle died, Vince had been the first person at the hospital. He had handled the funeral arrangements, managed the press statements, and stood beside Dominic at the graveside holding a black umbrella against the cold autumn rain.
“Don’t worry about the business, Dom,” Vince had said that afternoon, his voice smooth and professional behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Focus on the girls. I’ve got everything handled.”
Dominic stood up slowly, the silver frame clutched in his fist so tightly the metal edges bit into his palm. He didn't bleed, but his knuckles turned stark white.
"Grace," Dominic said without looking back.
"Mr. Romano?"
"Take the girls upstairs. Lock the nursery door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone—not for the guards, not for the cooks, not for me—unless I knock three times and say Isabelle's middle name."
Grace didn't flinch. Her gray eyes met his through the dim light of the library, assessing him with a sharp, professional clarity that belonged in a boardroom or a precinct, not a nursery. She didn't ask questions. She didn't look terrified, though any normal woman would have bolted for the gates at the mere mention of Dominic Romano's real world.
"Come on, girls," Grace said calmly, extending a hand to Olivia and Nora while Sophie instinctively grabbed the hem of her apron. "Let's go build that castle out of blocks we talked about."
"Will you stay with us?" Nora asked, her lower lip trembling.
"I'll be right there," Grace promised.
As the patter of little shoes faded up the grand staircase, Dominic walked to the mahogany desk. He pulled open the middle drawer, bypassed the false bottom that concealed a spare Glock magazine, and lifted a heavy leather-bound ledger containing the encrypted frequencies for his private security detail.
He keyed the comms unit built into the wall panel.
"Sal," Dominic said into the mic.
"Boss? I thought you were reviewing the Brooklyn docks manifest."
"Get down to the main house. Bring two men. I want the gates locked down immediately. No one enters, no one leaves. And call Vincent Vance. Tell him I need him in the study in twenty minutes."
"Vince? Sure thing, Dom. Is something—"
"Do it, Sal."
Dominic clicked off the comms. He walked over to the window seat where Olivia had been sitting. Among the dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sun lay a tiny, discarded plastic toy—a small white chess pawn with its felt bottom torn off. Inside the hollow base of the pawn, Dominic found a rolled-up micro-SD card.
He held it up to the light. The microscopic gold contacts gleamed.
Vince hadn't just been hiding a dock receipt in a picture frame. He had been bugging the mansion, listening to every conversation, every therapist's visit, every cry the girls had suppressed for over a year. And he had used the girls' terror as a weapon to keep them silent.
A heavy knock rattled the front foyer doors.
Dominic slipped the micro-SD card into his pocket, drew the 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster, and flicked off the safety. The metal made a sharp, decisive clack in the quiet room.
May you like
He walked out of the library, his coat billowing behind him like the wing of a dark bird, ready to tear apart the empire he had built with his own hands to find out why his best friend had signed his wife's death warrant.
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