569 "Where the Shadows Keep Their Secrets: Navigating the Web of Deceit Before the Final Midnight"

The courtyard of the Long Island estate was bathed in flashing red and blue lights when Dominic finally emerged from the service hatch near the greenhouses.

Local police cruisers and unmarked federal vehicles blocked the driveways, their doors wide open. But it wasn't a standard police raid. Standing on the front steps, supervising a team of agents carting out file boxes and digital servers, was Captain Miller—the only cop Dominic had trusted for twenty years.

Miller spotted Dominic coming across the gravel, carrying an unconscious man over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The captain hurried down the stone steps, his face etched with deep lines of worry.

"Dom! Where the hell have you been? Grace and the girls arrived at Precinct 4 twenty minutes ago—they're safe, federal marshals have them locked down in a secure safehouse," Miller reported rapidly, his eyes darting to Vincent. "And who is this piece of trash?"

"This is Vincent Rossi, one of Marcus’s lieutenants," Dominic said, dumping Vincent’s body onto the cold stone at Miller’s feet. "And he just gave me a name: District Attorney Frank Callahan."

Miller stopped dead, his breath catching in his throat. He looked around to make sure the surrounding federal agents were out of earshot before leaning in close.

"Callahan? Dom, are you out of your mind? You can't just throw around the D.A.'s name without airtight proof. He's heading the entire municipal corruption task force!"

"He’s the one who gave the green light on Isabelle’s assassination," Dominic growled, stepping up onto the porch, his eyes blazing with a dark, terrifying intensity. "He wanted my shipping lanes, and Marcus was his proxy. Where are my daughters, Miller?"

"They're being moved to a secondary location in Westchester," Miller said quietly, lowering his voice. "Look, Dom, if Callahan is dirty, the entire state apparatus is compromised. If you go after him directly, they won't arrest you—they'll execute you on the steps of the courthouse under a terrorism warrant."

"Let them try," Dominic replied, turning toward the grand oak doors of his mansion. "I built this empire to protect my family. If the foundation is rotten, I'll tear it down to the dirt."

Inside the grand foyer, the house was a mess of upturned furniture and shattered glass from Marcus’s botched takeover. But on the center table, right where Grace had left it before fleeing with the girls, sat a small, childishly drawn picture on pink construction paper.

Dominic walked over, his calloused fingers trembling slightly as he picked it up.

It was a drawing of a smiling man with black hair holding hands with three little girls, and beside them stood a woman with a halo of golden light. In clumsy, uneven crayon letters across the top, Olivia had written: Daddy is coming home.

Dominic swallowed hard, pressing the paper against his chest.

Suddenly, his encrypted cell phone buzzed violently in his coat pocket.