Chapter 7 - THE SHADOW IN THE SERVICE WING
Dominic turned to his head of security, Marco, who was standing beside the main ballroom entrance holding a tactical radio handset.
"Marco," Dominic spoke, his voice dropping into a register so quiet, flat, and devoid of emotion that it made the veteran enforcer's spine go cold.
"Yes, Don Dominic?"
"Lock down the subterranean service corridor," Dominic ordered calmly. "No one leaves the kitchen wing. No one accesses the underground garage. If anyone attempts to cross the perimeter without my personal authorization... execute them on sight."
Marco’s eyes widened slightly as he recognized the extreme level of lockdown. "Understood, boss. Who are we looking for?"
Dominic didn't answer with words. He reached down, squeezed his seven-year-old son Ethan's shoulder gently, and handed the boy over to Dr. Harris.
"Take Ethan to the upper security suite, Doctor," Dominic instructed smoothly. "Stay with him until I come up."
"Of course, Don Dominic," Dr. Harris replied, guiding the young boy toward the private elevator.
Dominic adjusted the cuffs of his fitted black suit jacket, unbuttoning the middle button to allow smooth, unrestricted movement. He walked with slow, heavy, deliberate strides away from the shattered porcelain and ruined cake, stepping through the mahogany service door into the dim, cool fluorescent lighting of the staff corridor.
The service wing ran three hundred feet beneath the grand floor of the estate—a labyrinth of stainless steel prep kitchens, wine cellars, laundry rooms, and walk-in refrigeration units.
The air here smelled of cold steel, bleach, and damp stone, a stark contrast to the rose-scented luxury of the ballroom above.
Dominic walked down the central hallway, his heavy leather dress shoes making crisp, echoing impacts against the gray epoxy floorboards. In his right coat pocket, his hand rested loosely against the textured grip of his custom, unbranded sidearm.
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He reached the heavy, insulated double doors of the primary walk-in cold room—the exact room three-year-old Lily had pointed to.
The heavy steel latch was sitting slightly unbolted.
