CHAPTER 5: THE PRIVATE EXHIBITION
CHAPTER 5: THE PRIVATE EXHIBITION
The private gallery on the top floor of Moretti House was a space reserved only for Dominic’s most exclusive clients. The walls were lined with masterpieces that didn't exist in any public museum catalog—paintings by Caravaggio, sketches by Michelangelo, and ancient Roman artifacts that had been rescued from the black market. The lighting was dramatic, focused entirely on the art, leaving the rest of the massive room in deep, velvety shadow.
When Julian Vance was brought into the room by two large security guards, he was visibly trembling. His expensive tweed jacket was rumpled, his glasses sliding down his sweating nose.
Dominic stood at the far end of the gallery, his back turned, examining a massive oil painting of a storm at sea. I sat in a high-backed leather chair in the shadows near the corner, out of direct sight, watching the drama unfold.
"Mr. Moretti," Julian stammered, his voice thin and high-pitched with terror. "I—I don't understand. Marco dragged me out of my apartment at midnight. Is there an issue with the Genoa collection? I assure you, the paperwork is completely in order."
Dominic didn't turn around. He kept his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the painting.
"Do you know the history of this piece, Julian?" Dominic asked, his voice smooth, conversational, and utterly terrifying. "It's a lost Rembrandt. The Storm on the Sea of Galilee. It depicts a group of men caught in a tempest, terrified for their lives, realizing too late that they are completely at the mercy of a power far greater than themselves."
"It's... it's a masterpiece, sir," Julian whispered, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"It is," Dominic agreed. He slowly turned around, stepping into the sharp beam of a spotlight. His eyes were entirely black, devoid of any mercy. "And do you know what happens to men who create their own storms, Julian? They drown."
Dominic threw the tablet onto the marble display table between them. The screen illuminated, displaying Julian’s private offshore bank accounts, the encrypted emails to Bianchi's syndicate, and the digital logs showing his unauthorized access to the security routing files.
Julian looked down at the screen, and the last shred of color drained from his face. He stumbled back, his knees hitting the edge of a display case. "Mr. Moretti... please... they threatened me! Bianchi’s people... they said they would kill my family if I didn't give them the data!"
"Don't lie to me," Dominic said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble that made the glass display cases vibrate. "You weren't threatened. You were greedy. You wanted the European director seat, and when you didn't get it, you decided to sell my organization to the highest bidder. You received three separate transfers of five hundred thousand dollars into your Cayman account."
Julian fell to his knees, his hands clasping together in desperate prayer. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'll give the money back! I'll give you everything! Just please, don't kill me!"
"Killing you is too clean, Julian," Dominic said, stepping closer, looking down at the broken man like he was an insect. "You didn't just steal from me. You gave Bianchi the location of my assistant. You put Eva’s life in danger. You allowed a piece of trash to put his hands on her, to bruise her face, to terrify her. That is a debt that cannot be paid in cash."
Dominic looked over toward the shadows. "Eva. Come here."
I stood up from the leather chair and stepped into the light. Julian gasped when he saw me, his eyes widening as he noticed the bandage on my cheek and the fact that I was wearing Dominic’s personal clothes. The realization of what I truly meant to Dominic finally clicked in his treacherous mind.
"Eva... Eva, please speak to him!" Julian begged, crawling toward me on his hands and knees. "You’re a good person! You know me! I’ve always been nice to you! Tell him to have mercy!"
I looked down at Julian, and to my surprise, I didn't feel pity. I felt a cold, righteous anger. This man had smiled at me every morning while plotting to have me kidnapped or killed just to make a profit.
"You used my life as a bargaining chip, Julian," I said, my voice steady, resonant, matching the tone of the man standing beside me. "You don't deserve mercy. You deserve justice."
Dominic picked up his phone, making one final, definitive call.
"Agent Reynolds," Dominic said into the receiver. On the other end was the head of the FBI’s organized crime task force in Chicago—a man who had been trying to build a case against the Bianchi family for a decade. "I have a gift for you. I am sending you a complete digital archive of the East Side syndicate’s financial operations, their smuggling routes, and their political bribes. And along with it, I am delivering the man who facilitated their entire operation. He is ready to confess to everything."
Dominic lowered the phone and looked down at Julian.
"You are going to spend the rest of your miserable life in a federal maximum-security prison, Julian," Dominic promised softly. "And if you ever breathe a single word about Eva, or if you ever try to look for her... I will ensure that your time in that prison becomes an absolute, living hell. Take him away."
Marco and another guard stepped forward, grabbing Julian by his arms and dragging him screaming out of the gallery. The heavy iron doors slammed shut, and the silence of the room returned, clean and absolute.
Dominic turned to me, the coldness in his face melting away into an expression of pure, unadulterated warmth. He walked over, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me close against his chest.
"It's over," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead. "The traitors are gone. The enemies are broken. There is nothing left between us but the future."
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"The future," I repeated, looking up into his beautiful, gold-flecked eyes. "What does that look like for a mafia boss and his assistant?"
Dominic smiled, a rare, breathtaking sight that completely transformed his hard face. "It looks like a partnership, Eva. An absolute, unbreakable partnership. And first thing tomorrow... we are changing your job title."
