Chapter 5 - The Wisconsin Estate
The Rossi winter estate in northern Wisconsin was an isolated alpine compound nestled on a dense, snow-covered peninsula jutting out into Lake Superior. Surrounded by pine forests and guarded by dozens of heavily armed security personnel, it was built specifically for high-level summits where discretion was paramount.
A heavy snowstorm was blowing in from the north, whipping cold white powder against the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the central Great Hall.
Inside, a massive stone fireplace roared with crackling birch logs, casting orange firelight across the iron chandeliers, red oriental rugs, and a heavy hexagonal oak table at the center of the room.
By three o'clock in the afternoon, the four regional leaders had arrived, accompanied by their personal bodyguards and chief legal advisers.
Maeve sat directly to Dominic’s right, wearing her emerald suit, her leather folder open before her, her pen resting poised over a clean pad of paper. To the rest of the room, she had been introduced simply as Dr. Nolan, Dominic’s personal international risk analyst.
Jean-Luc Duval, a thin, silver-haired Frenchman with sharp, hawk-like eyes, puffed quietly on a cigar at the far end of the table.
Karl Vance, a massive man with scarred knuckles and a dark leather coat, sat with his arms crossed tightly against his chest.
Matteo Moretti, seventy-two years old, sat quietly sipping espresso, looking old and frail, though his dark eyes remained as sharp as needles.
And Sergio Rossi—Dominic’s cousin, a slick thirty-five-year-old with perfectly styled hair and an expensive gold watch—sat nervously adjusting his cufflinks.
"We all know why we are here," Dominic began, his voice cutting clearly through the crackle of the fireplace. "Thirty-six hours ago, my uncle Silvio and Gregory Volk attempted to kidnap my brother and execute a coup against my leadership."
A murmur of staged outrage swept through the table.
"Silvio was a fool," Sergio spoke up quickly, his tone full of earnest devotion. "Dominic, you know my father’s branch of the family had no knowledge of this insanity! We stand behind you one hundred percent!"
Maeve didn't look at Sergio. She kept her eyes on her pad, her ears tuned to the subtle shifts in breathing, tone, and microscopic hesitations around the room.
Karl Vance scoffed in dark Bavarian German to his bodyguard standing behind his chair: “Listen to the little dog bark. He licks the hand that killed his uncle while holding a blade behind his back.”
Maeve noted it down quietly on her pad, sliding a brief, handwritten English translation across the wood to Dominic’s palm:
Vance knows Sergio is lying. Vance is not part of the coup, but he expects violence today.
Dominic’s eyes flicked down to the note. His posture didn't change, but his hand moved slightly closer to the inner lapel of his jacket.
Jean-Luc Duval leaned forward, speaking in smooth, refined French to Matteo Moretti beside him: “Dominic is young. He eliminated Silvio quickly, but he doesn't realize the shipment from Marseille has already cleared the docks in Quebec. Once the Canadian border opens tomorrow, his territory is worthless.”
Maeve wrote another quick note:
Duval has bypassed your northern routes entirely with a shipment from Marseille. He is stalling this meeting to let his trucks move through Quebec.
Dominic read the second note. A small, cold vein pulsed near his temple, but his expression remained a mask of stone.
"I have secured Silvio’s private communications ledger," Dominic announced aloud to the table, holding up a sleek red leather ledger book he had taken from his estate safe. "Before my security team processed him, he surrendered the full encryption keys to his international bank accounts and his private messaging channels."
The reaction was immediate.
Sergio Rossi’s right hand twitched violently against his teacup.
He leaned back slightly, turned his head toward his bodyguard, and muttered four low, gutter words in archaic Corsican dialect:
“L'mori hè prontu. Spara a cannetta.”
Maeve dropped her pen.
The sound of the plastic clicking against the oak table was tiny, but to Maeve, it sounded like a cannon shot.
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She didn't write a note this time.
She grabbed Dominic’s shoulder with her left hand and drove her body full-force against his chest, shoving him sideways out of his chair just as a deafening gunshot shattered the air of the Great Hall!
