Chapter 4 - The House of Glass
The entire dining room went dead silent.
The two Philadelphia underbosses paused with their wine glasses halfway to their lips. Nathan’s eyes narrowed sharply. Vanessa froze. Dr. Aaron Mercer took an involuntary step backward, his face draining of all color.
Lily set down her red crayon, hopped off her small stool, and skipped across the marble floor to stand beside Dominic’s wheelchair.
“Yes, Uncle Dominic?” she asked brightly.
Dominic held out the white pill resting on his palm.
“Is this the exact same candy you found on the crimson carpet four days ago, Lily?” he asked gently.
Lily leaned closer, squinted her big brown eyes at the small tablet, and nodded emphatically.
“Yes! It has the little line right down the middle!” she declared proudly. “I told you doctors lose their medicine!”
Dominic smiled at the little girl—a genuine, warm smile.
“You are the smartest girl in this entire city, Lily,” he said softly. Then he looked up at Claire. “Claire, take Lily upstairs to your quarters right now. Lock the door, turn on the television, and do not come back down until Marcus personally comes to fetch you.”
Claire didn't hesitate for a single microsecond. She saw the deadly storm brewing in Dominic’s gray eyes, ran across the room, scooped Lily up into her arms, and bolted out the side entrance, shutting the heavy oak door behind her.
Once the sound of the little girl’s footsteps faded away, Dominic turned his head back toward the dining table.
The warmth on his face was completely gone, replaced by a expression of pure, unadulterated executioner’s judgment.
“Dominic... what is the meaning of this theater?” Nathan demanded, his voice tightening as he tried to maintain his authoritative stance. “Why are you interrogating a maid's child over a supplement pill?”
Dominic looked at Dr. Aaron Mercer.
“Tell him what is inside that pill, Aaron,” Dominic commanded softly.
Aaron Mercer began to shake so violently that the silver tray in his hands rattled loudly against his medical bag. “Dominic... I... I don't know what you’re talking about! It’s your prescribed neuro-repair medication!”
“It is a synthetic tetrodotoxin compound combined with a long-acting neuromuscular paralytic,” Dominic said, his voice echoing off the high ceilings like a thunderclap. “Synthesized in an illegal pharmaceutical facility in Hamburg, imported through the Hart Logistics terminal in Newark, and delivered to this house by a coward who broke his Hippocratic oath for money.”
Vanessa gasped, dropping her crystal flute. It shattered loudly on the marble floor, scattering champagne across Nathan’s polished shoes.
Nathan’s face turned red with fury. “This is insane! The trauma to your spine made you paranoid, Dominic! You’ve completely lost your mind!”
“My spine,” Dominic said flatly, “is entirely healed.”
And with those words, Dominic Vale did something that shattered the reality of every person sitting in that room.
He tossed the heavy woolen blanket off his legs.
He reached down, grabbed the armrests of the wheelchair, and stood up.
He did not wobble. He did not lean on the table for support. He stood at his full height—six-foot-two inches of terrifying, powerful muscle—stepping smoothly around the wheelchair and taking three slow, deliberate, heavy strides toward the head of the dining table.
The two Philadelphia underbosses leaped out of their chairs so fast their seats overturned, their hands instinctually flying to their shoulder holsters, their faces pale with absolute terror.
Vanessa let out a blood-curdling shriek, stumbling backward until her back slammed against the marble fireplace mantel.
Nathan Cole stood frozen, his eyes wide, his jaw hanging open as if he were staring at a ghost that had just risen straight out of a grave.
“You... you’re walking...” Nathan stammered, his voice high-pitched and breathless. “How... how are you walking?!”
“Because three days ago, I stopped eating the poison you’ve been feeding me for six months, Nathan,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a deadly, horrifying register as he took another step forward.
Dr. Aaron Mercer dropped the silver tray onto the floor with a deafening clatter, fell to his knees, and threw his hands up in utter desperation, weeping hysterically.
“He made me do it, Dominic! I swear to God, Nathan made me do it!” Aaron sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at Nathan. “He bought my gambling debts in Atlantic City! He threatened to kill my daughter if I didn't swap your medication! I didn't want to kill you! He paid for the paralytic!”
“Shut up, you sniveling fool!” Nathan screamed, reaching into his suit coat to pull out his nickel-plated revolver.
Before Nathan’s hand could even clear his lapel, the double doors of the dining room blew open.
Marcus Reed and four heavily armed, black-clad Vale enforcers swarmed into the room with terrifying military efficiency. Before Nathan could pull his weapon, Marcus stepped forward, caught Nathan’s wrist in a bone-crushing grip, twisted it upward until a sharp snap echoed through the room, and slammed Nathan’s face down hard onto the mahogany dining table.
Nathan screamed in agony as his revolver clattered harmlessly across the floorboards.
Vanessa sank to her knees beside the fireplace, weeping uncontrollably, holding her hands over her ears as the estate enforcers surrounded her and the Philadelphia underbosses, disarming them in seconds.
Dominic stood over Nathan Cole, looking down at his former best friend with a cold, absolute detachment that was far more terrifying than rage.
“Twelve years, Nathan,” Dominic said quietly, looking down at the groveling man pinned against the table. “I treated you like a brother. I gave you a seat at my table. I gave you power, wealth, and my absolute trust.”
“Dominic... please...” Nathan choked out through the blood filling his mouth. “Please... we can work this out... it was just business... it was the logistics companies...”
Dominic looked over at Marcus.
“Take Dr. Mercer, Miss Hart, and Mr. Cole down to the basement holding cells near the docks,” Dominic commanded softly. “Federal prosecutors from the Organized Crime Task Force will be arriving at the main gate in twenty minutes. Hand over the paper trail, the chemical reports, and the video recordings from my office safe.”
Nathan raised his bloody head, staring at Dominic in pure disbelief. “Federal prosecutors?! You’re turning us over to the government?! You don't involve the feds, Dominic! That goes against everything the syndicate stands for!”
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Dominic leaned down, his gray eyes inches from Nathan’s bleeding face, his voice cold enough to freeze blood.
“The old syndicate died six months ago, Nathan,” Dominic whispered. “And I am the man who buried it.”
