Chapter 8 - The Betrayal Unveiled
The peace lasted less than forty-eight hours.
Dominic had mobilized the entire organization to hunt down Vincent Marlow. The docks were locked down, the airports were monitored, and the Cavanaugh syndicate was reeling after Dominic’s sweep teams dismantled three of their primary warehouses in East Boston.
Catherine had returned to the Beacon Hill manor under heavy guard. Dominic had insisted she stay, and this time, she didn't fight him. For the first time in her life, she felt safe.
She was in the manor’s sunlit kitchen, making coffee, when the front gates groaned open.
A delivery van from a local medical supply company entered the courtyard. Catherine frowned. She hadn't ordered anything.
Before she could call out to the guards stationed in the foyer, the kitchen door was kicked open with explosive force.
Flash-bang grenades detonated, filling the room with blinding light and deafening thunder. Catherine was thrown against the marble island, her ears ringing violently, her vision swimming in white static.
Through the smoke, four men in tactical gear swarmed the kitchen. Her two bodyguards were executed with suppressed fire before they could draw their weapons.
A boot stepped into Catherine’s field of vision.
Vincent Marlow looked down at her, a cold, triumphant sneer on his face. He held a silenced automatic pistol in his gloved hand.
“Get her up,” Marlow ordered.
Catherine fought. Even half-blind and dazed, she kicked out, striking one of the men in the shin, reaching for a chef's knife on the counter. But a heavy strike to the back of her head plunged her into darkness.
***
Dominic was at the South Boston shipping docks when his phone buzzed.
He picked it up, expecting Nico with news of Marlow’s location.
Instead, a video message appeared on the screen.
Dominic tapped the screen. His blood turned to pure liquid nitrogen.
Catherine was tied to a heavy steel chair in an abandoned warehouse. Her lip was split, bleeding into her dark hair, but her hazel eyes were wide and burning with defiance. Behind her stood Vincent Marlow, a revolver pressed to the side of her temple.
“Good afternoon, Dominic,” Marlow’s voice purred through the speaker. “You took my docks. You took my accounts. So I took the only thing in this city you actually care about.”
Dominic’s hand crushed the phone until the glass cracked. “Marlow. If you touch a single hair on her head, I will flay you alive.”
“Save the dramatics,” Marlow laughed, a dry, rattling sound. “Hanover Pier, Warehouse 4. Come alone. Sign over the port authority manifests and the master cryptographic keys to the Vale trust by sunset. If you bring your men, if you notify the police, or if you are five minutes late... I’ll blow her brains across this concrete floor.”
The screen went black.
Dominic stood on the cold wooden pier, the wind from the Atlantic lashing against his coat.
Nico rushed over, his face pale. “Boss, it’s a kill box. Hanover Pier is surrounded by open water. He has snipers on the crane towers. If you walk in there alone, you are walking into a firing squad.”
Dominic looked at the shattered screen of his phone, where Catherine’s bruised, beautiful face remained frozen.
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“Then I walk into a firing squad,” Dominic said, cocking his weapon with cold, mechanical finality. “Because without her, there is nothing left to rule.”
***
