Chapter 9
The museum fell into a deep, heavy stillness as the clock ticked past midnight. The bright blue glow of the aquarium walls shifted into a dimmer, nocturnal hue, casting long, eerie shadows across the scattered diving gear and the collapsed exhibit screens. Dominic sat unmoving on the padded bench, holding Maya close as she slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling in steady, peaceful rhythms against his chest.
The heavy oak doors at the far end of the donor lounge creaked open, breaking the silence. Marcus stepped back inside, flanked by two armed capos who were dragging a pale, shivering young man between them. The captive was Julian, the junior curator, his museum uniform rumpled and his face slick with cold sweat as he stared in sheer terror at the towering mafia boss.
"On your knees," Marcus ordered, shoving the young man forward. Julian hit the plush carpet just feet away from Dominic, trembling violently as his eyes darted toward the sleeping child before fixing frantically on Dominic's terrifying, unreadable face.
"Mr... Mr. Dominic," Julian stammered, his voice cracking with absolute panic. "Please... I didn't mean any disrespect! I swear to God, I just needed the money! I didn't know what the recording was for!"
Dominic slowly raised his hand, gently resting his fingers over Maya’s ear to ensure the noise wouldn't wake her. Only when he was certain the child was undisturbed did he speak, turning his chilling, ebony gaze down upon the kneeling curator.
"Money," Dominic murmured, the word sounding like a curse in his deep, measured voice. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You risked your life, your career, and the safety of everyone in this building for paper? Who bought you, Julian?"
"I... I don't know!" Julian sobbed, pressing his hands flat against the carpet. "I swear I don't know his name! He wore a mask over the video call! He just told me to position a hidden camera near the VIP lounge, record whatever happened with Genevieve, and stream it to an encrypted server!"
"A masked man," Dominic repeated, his voice dangerously low. "You expect me to believe you transmitted footage of my family to a ghost?"
"It’s the truth! He paid me fifty thousand dollars in cryptocurrency upfront!" Julian cried out, tears streaming down his face, desperate to be believed. "He said... he said the great Dominic Whitmore has grown soft in his old age, and that tonight was just the opening act of a much larger war!"
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Dominic went completely still. The mention of an opening act, of an impending war directed specifically at his reign, didn't cause fear—it ignited a cold, lethal fire behind his eyes. For years, rival syndicates had tested his borders, but none had dared target his bloodline with such calculated precision.
Before Dominic could press further, his luxury timepiece buzzed softly against his wrist. A secure, encrypted notification flashed across the small digital screen—an incoming priority transmission from his overseas intelligence network.
