Chapter 6 - The Confession in the Vault
The air in the server room dropped to an absolute zero.
Dominic didn't fire immediately, which was far more terrifying than if he had. He walked slowly down the aisle between the server racks, his dark eyes locked onto Thomas like a predator closing in on a wounded animal.
“Thomas,” Dominic said softly, his voice carrying a quiet, lethal tremor. “Sixteen years. You sat at my family’s table. You held Lily when she was a baby. And you sold us out to the Syndicate.”
Thomas swallowed hard, his breathing shallow. He didn't try to deny it anymore. The game was over.
“It’s business, Dominic,” Thomas muttered, his voice shaking slightly as he tried to regain his composure. “The old guard is dying out. The North Side coalition offered a buyout that your empire couldn't match. They wanted the girl as leverage to force your hand on the shipping routes. I just... I just unlocked the door.”
“You didn't just unlock a door,” Dominic whispered, stepping so close to the traitor that the barrel of his pistol was nearly touching Thomas’s chest. “You invited wolves into my home. You put a knife against my daughter’s throat.”
Before Thomas could blink, the butt of Dominic’s pistol whipped through the air with blinding speed, connecting solidly with the side of Thomas’s jaw.
Thomas dropped like a stone, unconscious before he even hit the concrete floor.
Dominic didn't even look down at him. He motioned with two fingers to the guards behind him. “Take him down to the lower holding cells. Let the interrogators tear him apart piece by piece until I have every single name of everyone who backed this play.”
“Yes, boss,” the lead guard grunted, hauling Thomas’s limp body up by his arms and dragging him out of the server room.
The heavy vault door slid shut, leaving just Dominic and me standing in the humming silence of the server room.
I was still sitting on the floor, leaning heavily against the server rack, clutching my chest as the sharp, burning pain slowly subsided into a dull ache. My breathing was ragged, my shirt torn, and my hands covered in grease and dust.
Dominic holstered his weapon, walked over, and extended a strong, calloused hand down toward me.
I looked up at him, grabbed his wrist, and let him pull me effortlessly to my feet.
“You found the logs,” Dominic stated, his eyes falling on the flash drive still clutched tightly in my hand.
“On the master terminal,” I panted, leaning against the desk for support. “He had a backdoor override set up for the northern perimeter. He was planning to finish the job tonight.”
Dominic stared at me for a long, silent moment. The cold, impenetrable warlord facade melted away, replaced by something much heavier—a profound, devastating respect.
“You aren't just an accountant, Julian,” Dominic said quietly, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re a survivor.”
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“I’m just a guy who didn't want to see a little girl die in an alley,” I muttered, wincing as a fresh wave of chest pain flared up.
Dominic’s expression instantly sharpened. He saw the way I winced, the pale sweat beading on my forehead. Without a word, he reached out, hooked his arm under mine, and practically carried me out of the server room and up toward the estate’s private medical wing.
