Chapter 7 - The Federal Subpoena
Dominic stood up so fast his chair screeched against the hardwood floor. All the warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced instantly by the cold, calculating strategist who had ruled the Chicago underworld for a decade.
"A witness?" Dominic demanded, stepping toward Mason. "Who?"
"One of Moretti’s lieutenants," Mason reported, reading rapidly from his tablet screen. "A guy named Salvo who managed to slip out through the back drainage pipes before the raid concluded. He went straight to the FBI field office in downtown Chicago. He claims he saw you execute Moretti in cold blood."
I gripped my coffee mug so hard my knuckles turned white. "Federal prison... Dominic, if they have a witness—"
"They don't have a witness that matters," Dominic cut me off, his voice like iron. "Salvo is a rat trying to buy immunity for crimes he committed. But the federal prosecutor leading this task force is Assistant U.S. Attorney Arthur Vance."
I froze. "Vance? Like... your name?"
"No relation," Dominic said grimly, buttoning his suit jacket. "Arthur Vance is a crusading, by-the-book prosecutor who has been trying to take down my empire for five years. If he gets a signed affidavit placing me at the warehouse during a homicide, he will tear this family apart just to win an election."
"Daddy, are you going away?" Leo asked from the bed, his voice trembling slightly as he dropped his fork, the pancakes suddenly forgotten.
Dominic walked back to the bed, kneeling down and taking Leo’s small hands in his. "Never, buddy. Daddy is just going to have a little chat with some lawyers. You stay here with Willa. Everything is going to be fine."
He stood up, giving me one intense, lingering look. "Lock the doors, Mason. Nobody enters this suite until I get back."
"Dominic, be careful," I said, stepping forward.
"Always," he murmured, before turning and striding out of the room with Mason flanking his side.
For the next six hours, the suite became a gilded cage. I played board games with Leo, read him stories, and tried desperately to keep my own rising panic from showing on my face. Every notification on the news feeds I checked on my phone hinted at a massive impending crackdown on the Vance shipping syndicates.
By late afternoon, the tension inside the room was unbearable.
Then, the heavy oak door finally unlocked.
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It wasn't Dominic who walked in. It was Mason Reed, holding a sealed envelope, and behind him stood a tall, silver-haired man in an expensive navy suit—Assistant U.S. Attorney Arthur Vance.
Behind Arthur stood two federal marshals with handcuffs gleaming in the afternoon light.
