Chapter 5 - The Unseen Watcher
The predawn light was just beginning to streak across the New York skyline as Dominic’s black sedan pulled through the iron gates of his Manhattan estate. The storm had passed, leaving the paved driveways glistening under the amber glow of the security lamps.
Dominic stepped out of the car, feeling the exhaustion settling deep into his bones, but his mind remained entirely sharp.
Marco followed him up the grand marble steps of the entrance. "Boss, Kolov’s men are already packing their bags. The port syndicate is in absolute panic. Nobody expected you to liquidate his accounts overnight."
"Kolov was a symptom, Marco, not the disease," Dominic replied as the heavy front doors swung open automatically. "The men who ordered him to send that message... they’re still watching."
They walked through the grand foyer toward the private residential wing. The Castellano mansion was quiet, save for the gentle hum of medical equipment coming from the guest suite where Dr. Sterling and his assistant were monitoring Emma.
Dominic paused outside her door. He pushed it open just an inch.
Inside, Emma lay resting against crisp white pillows. Her face was still bruised and swollen, but her breathing was deep, even, and peaceful. A small bedside lamp cast a warm, golden glow across her pale features.
Marco stopped behind him. "She’s safe, Boss."
"For now," Dominic murmured.
He closed the door softly and walked down the long corridor toward his study. As he entered the room, he noticed something strange.
The heavy mahogany window shutters—which had been securely locked before he left for Brooklyn—were cracked open an inch. A cool morning breeze drifted inside, fluttering the papers on his desk.
Dominic’s hand dropped instinctively to the concealed firearm beneath his jacket. He signaled silently to Marco to check the perimeter.
He walked slowly toward his desk, his eyes scanning the shadows.
Resting right in the center of his blotter was a single item that hadn't been there when he left. It wasn't a threat note. It wasn't a bomb.
It was a silver medallion bearing an unfamiliar family crest—a crowned wolf biting its own tail—with a single drop of fresh, wet blood smeared across the metal.
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Before Dominic could process what it meant, his private terminal screen flashed on by itself, displaying a live video feed from the front gate camera.
A single black unmarked car was parked outside the iron gates. The driver's door opened, and a man in a tailored gray suit stepped out, looking directly into the camera lens with a cold, knowing smile—before slowly drawing his index finger across his throat.
