Chapter 5 - The Serpents' Feast
With the children safely hidden away in Wisconsin under heavy, loyal guard, Dominic began his counter-offensive. Marcus had delivered the files, and they were more damning than Dominic could have imagined.
Victoria was not just a rogue Santoro; she was the mastermind behind a silent coup. Her father, Don Silvio Santoro, had been using her to systematically poison Dominic while funneling Moretti shipping codes to their rivals.
Even worse, Marcus found a medical file from three years ago. Dominic’s late wife, Catherine, had died in a hit-and-run that was never solved. The driver of the vehicle had been paid through a shell company registered to Victoria’s cousin.
“She killed Catherine,” Dominic whispered, staring at the documents in his dimly lit study. The realization felt like a physical blow. He had brought the woman who murdered his wife into his home, into his bed, and allowed her to torture his children.
He picked up a glass of tea Victoria had prepared for him earlier. He walked over to the bathroom sink and poured it down the drain, watching the amber liquid disappear.
“Enjoy your final days of luxury, Victoria,” he muttered.
On Wednesday night, the Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of glittering diamonds, silk tuxedos, and the heavy aroma of expensive perfume. It was the annual Winter Gala, the premiere event for Chicago’s elite—and the perfect stage for a public execution of power.
Victoria looked breathtaking in an emerald green gown, her neck adorned with Moretti family emeralds. She clung to Dominic’s arm, greeting senators, judges, and rival mob bosses with the poise of a queen.
“You’re exceptionally quiet tonight, Dominic,” she murmured, leaning close to him as they stood near the grand staircase.
“Just admiring you,” Dominic said, his voice cold and smooth as ice. “You’ve put a lot of effort into tonight. Into everything.”
“Only the best for our family,” she smiled.
May you like
At the far end of the room, Dominic saw Silvio Santoro enter, flanked by four bodyguards. Silvio caught Victoria’s eye and gave a subtle, triumphant nod. Tonight was the night they believed Dominic would sign over the shipping manifests—the final keys to the Moretti empire—before the poison took its final toll.
Dominic reached into his breast pocket, his fingers brushing against a flash drive. “Excuse me, darling. I have to make a toast.”
