Chapter 5 - The Traitor Behind the Gun
Dominic moved before the sound finished echoing.
He twisted around Amelia.
The bullet struck his shoulder.
His body jerked.
Amelia screamed his name.
Dominic hit the floor with her beneath him, shielding her stomach as a second shot tore into the marble.
Chaos erupted.
Torres spun toward Peter.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Peter fired at him.
Torres dropped behind the vault door.
The remaining gunmen scattered.
The hostage exchange vanished.
Whatever agreement had existed was over.
Peter Knox was no longer pretending to work for Torres.
He was cleaning the room.
“Dominic!”
Amelia pressed both hands over his shoulder.
Blood spread through his white shirt.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been shot!”
“I’ve had worse.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“That is not comforting!”
He almost smiled.
Then he saw Peter moving.
“Down.”
Dominic pulled Amelia behind a steel deposit cart as another bullet struck the wall.
Torres shouted from the corridor.
“Knox!”
Peter laughed.
“You really thought this was your operation?”
“You work for me!”
“I worked beside you.”
“Who paid you?”
Peter fired again.
Dominic heard the words that followed.
“Someone who got tired of waiting for Castellano to die.”
Dominic’s mind moved faster than the bullets.
Someone inside.
Someone with money.
Someone with access.
Someone old enough to have waited.
Amelia was breathing too quickly.
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
She pressed her hands against his wound.
“I’m bleeding all over you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You are!”
“Then I’m bleeding under excellent supervision.”
“Dominic!”
“Amelia.”
She looked up.
He lowered his voice.
“Baby?”
Her hand moved to her stomach.
A second.
Then movement.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Another contraction began.
Amelia gritted her teeth.
“Not now.”
Dominic checked the clock.
Three minutes.
Too close.
His physician had said first labor could take hours.
Dominic was beginning to suspect his son had inherited his patience.
Or lack of it.
Across the room, Peter shouted.
“Throw out the ledger.”
Torres answered with profanity.
Peter fired twice.
Dominic leaned close to Amelia.
“When I tell you, move toward the back office.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Her expression hardened.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“The man who thinks ordering me around counts as love.”
Dominic closed his eyes briefly.
“This is an inconvenient moment for personal growth.”
“Then grow faster.”
Despite pain, despite gunfire, Dominic nearly laughed.
He looked toward the back office.
Twenty feet.
Partial cover.
A fire suppression panel beside the wall.
He remembered construction plans.
High-pressure emergency system.
Manual override inside office.
Useful.
“I need you to trust me for ten seconds.”
Amelia stared.
“Only ten?”
“I’m learning.”
She nodded.
Dominic grabbed a loose metal drawer.
He threw it across the vault.
Peter fired toward the sound.
“Now.”
They moved.
Dominic kept one arm around Amelia as they crossed.
A bullet struck the cart behind them.
Another shattered a light.
They reached the office.
Dominic pushed Amelia inside.
She grabbed his sleeve.
“You too.”
“I need the suppression panel.”
“Inside?”
“Outside.”
“No.”
“Amelia.”
She slapped him.
Actually slapped him.
Dominic blinked.
“You already tried abandoning me once,” she said. “You don’t get to develop the habit.”
Then she spotted the panel through the doorway.
“What does it do?”
“Floods the vault with emergency suppressant.”
“Can you breathe in it?”
“For a little while.”
“Can Peter see?”
“No.”
“Then do it from here.”
“There’s no remote—”
Amelia pointed at a red emergency switch on the office wall.
Dominic looked.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Billionaire.”
He pressed it.
Alarms screamed.
Metal vents opened overhead.
Dense white suppressant blasted into the vault.
Visibility disappeared instantly.
Peter cursed.
Gunshots went wild.
Dominic closed the office door.
“Useful florist.”
“Flowers need fire codes too.”
Outside, men shouted.
Dominic removed his belt.
Amelia stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Pressure.”
He wrapped it above the shoulder wound.
“You cannot put a tourniquet there.”
Dominic stopped.
“Why?”
“Because your shoulder is attached to your torso.”
He looked irritated.
“Then what?”
Amelia tore fabric from the lining of her coat.
“Sit.”
He obeyed.
Another first.
She pressed hard against the wound.
Dominic sucked in breath.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“Why?”
“You’re the only competent person in the building.”
“That is an extremely low bar.”
Someone slammed into the office door.
Amelia froze.
Dominic stood.
He positioned himself between her and the entrance.
No gun.
One injured arm.
Still dangerous.
The door opened.
Torres stumbled inside.
Dominic grabbed him by the throat.
“Wait!”
Torres lifted empty hands.
“Knox shot Luis and Marco.”
“Tragic.”
“He’s trying to kill me too.”
“More tragic.”
“We need each other.”
Dominic tightened his grip.
“I’ve never needed you.”
“You do now.”
Torres nodded toward Amelia.
“He knows the tunnels. He knows the explosives. If Knox gets to the control room, he’ll detonate everything and blame me.”
Dominic released him.
“Who hired him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I swear.”
Dominic shoved him against the wall.
“Gabriel.”
“I was contacted through intermediaries.”
“Who?”
“An attorney.”
“Name.”
“Charles Vane.”
Dominic froze.
Vane.
His family’s attorney for twenty-three years.
The man who had handled Dominic’s father’s estate.
The man who had drafted every trust and corporate restructuring since Dominic inherited the organization.
The man who ate Christmas dinner at Dominic’s table.
Amelia saw his expression.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
Torres continued.
“Vane said there were people inside Castellano Global who wanted a transfer of leadership.”
“Who?”
“He never said.”
Dominic knew.
Or feared he knew.
Only three people had enough institutional power.
Matteo.
Charles Vane.
And Dominic’s uncle, Salvatore Castellano.
His father’s younger brother.
Salvatore had supposedly retired five years earlier.
He lived in Palm Beach.
Golfed three days a week.
Sent Dominic expensive whiskey at Christmas.
And had spent decades telling everyone how proud Antonio would have been.
Dominic remembered Torres’s earlier words.
Your father trusted his brother.
Highway accident.
A cold understanding settled inside him.
“Salvatore.”
Torres’s face told him enough.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“You used my father’s death to provoke me because you knew.”
“I knew Vane reported to someone older.”
“Salvatore.”
“Probably.”
Amelia whispered, “Your uncle?”
Dominic looked at her.
“My father’s brother.”
“The one you said—”
“Yes.”
The one his father trusted.
History repeating.
Only this time Salvatore had a new problem.
An heir.
Dominic’s son threatened whatever succession plan Salvatore had built.
Amelia’s face changed.
“He knew about the baby.”
Dominic felt sick.
Peter had watched her.
If Peter knew, Salvatore knew.
That meant Amelia had not merely been collateral damage.
She and the baby were targets.
A contraction struck.
Amelia cried out and doubled over.
Dominic caught her.
Torres checked the time.
“Two minutes.”
Dominic looked down.
“No.”
Amelia actually laughed through tears.
“You’re doing that again.”
“Doing what?”
“Telling labor no.”
“It seems unreasonable.”
She grabbed his shirt.
“It’s happening.”
Dominic’s confidence vanished.
“What is happening?”
“The pressure changed.”
“What does that mean?”
She looked terrified now.
“I think the baby is coming.”
Torres stared.
“Here?”
Amelia snapped, “No, Gabriel. I’m going to commute to another hostage vault.”
A gunshot struck the office window.
All three ducked.
Peter’s voice came through the smoke.
“Dominic!”
Dominic pushed Amelia behind the desk.
Peter continued.
“You have three minutes before this building comes down!”
Torres swore.
Dominic shouted, “Why three?”
“Because Salvatore wants confirmation before the explosion.”
Dominic’s jaw clenched.
“Confirmation of what?”
Peter laughed.
“That the Castellano bloodline ends today.”
Amelia’s hand flew protectively to her stomach.
Dominic stood.
Something changed in him.
The billionaire disappeared.
The strategist disappeared.
The wounded lover disappeared.
What remained was the man who had survived eighteen years of war by becoming more dangerous than anyone hunting him.
“Stay with her,” he told Torres.
Torres blinked.
“You trust me?”
“No.”
Dominic opened the office door.
“But I trust your survival instinct.”
“Where are you going?”
“To end this.”
Amelia grabbed him.
“No.”
Dominic looked down.
Her eyes were full of fear.
“Come back.”
Two words.
Not a command.
Not anger.
A request.
Dominic touched her face.
“I will.”
“You promise?”
Dominic had made promises to politicians, businessmen, criminals, and dying men.
This one was different.
“Yes.”
He kissed her forehead.
Then disappeared into the white smoke.
Peter saw movement.
Fired.
Dominic moved left.
Another shot.
He grabbed a rolling deposit cart and shoved it forward.
Peter fired into the metal.
Dominic followed behind it.
Closer.
Ten feet.
Six.
Peter saw him.
Raised the gun.
Dominic slammed the cart into Peter’s knees.
Peter fell.
Dominic was on him instantly.
The gun skidded away.
Peter swung.
Dominic absorbed the blow, drove his forehead into Peter’s face, and pinned him.
“Control room.”
Peter laughed bloodily.
“Too late.”
Dominic hit him.
“Where?”
“Basement.”
“Code.”
“Go to hell.”
Dominic grabbed Peter’s injured hand.
“Code.”
Peter screamed.
“Seven-one-four-nine!”
Dominic released him.
Then a phone in Peter’s pocket rang.
Dominic removed it.
Answered.
A familiar elderly voice said, “Is it done?”
Dominic stopped breathing.
Salvatore.
His uncle.
The man who used to bring him baseball gloves when he was a boy.
The man who stood beside Dominic at his father’s funeral.
The man who kissed Dominic’s forehead over Antonio Castellano’s coffin and promised, You still have family.
Dominic pressed the phone to his ear.
“No, Uncle.”
Silence.
Then Salvatore whispered, “Dominic.”
“You should have stayed retired.”
The older man sighed.
“I’m sorry it came to this.”
“You tried to kill my child.”
“Your child complicates things.”
Dominic’s face became stone.
“No.”
“What?”
“My child simplifies everything.”
“How?”
Dominic looked toward the office where Amelia was laboring.
“Now I know exactly what I’m willing to kill for.”
Then he hung up.
A violent explosion shook the floor.
Lights flickered.
Torres shouted from the office.
“Dominic!”
He ran back.
Amelia was on her knees, gripping the desk.
Her face was white.
“Something’s wrong.”
Dominic dropped beside her.
“What?”
She looked down.
Blood.
Far more than before.
Dominic’s world stopped.
May you like
Amelia whispered the words he had been most afraid to hear.
“I think the baby’s in trouble.”
