Chapter 5 - The Subterranean Network
Ten minutes later, the iron storm grate near the garden terrace clicked open, and Dante Rossi dropped silently onto the brick path, followed by five tactical operators dressed in black urban assault gear with suppressed submachine guns.
Dante walked over to me in the dim courtyard, his expression grave.
“We picked up Dominic at his residence in Back Bay, boss,” Dante reported, gesturing toward the back of a blacked-out SUV parked in the service alley. “He was packing three duffel bags full of bearer bonds and passport documents. He claims he was catching an early flight to London for a real estate conference.”
“Bring him inside,” I commanded.
Two operators pulled Dominic Duca out of the vehicle. My uncle was fifty-eight years old, immaculate in a tailored charcoal wool coat, his silver hair neatly styled, though sweat was pouring down his temples despite the cool rain.
“Roman!” Dominic shouted as the operators pushed him through the kitchen entrance. “What is the meaning of this madness? Your men pulled me out of my home at gunpoint! Have you lost your mind?”
I didn't answer him. I grabbed Dominic by the lapels of his expensive coat, dragged him across the kitchen tile, and threw him forcefully into the open pantry vault passage leading down into the dark basement.
Dominic stumbled over the stone landing, catching himself against the iron frame, his face turning pale as he recognized the entrance to the sealed passage.
“Roman… wait,” Dominic stammered, his voice suddenly losing its authoritative corporate polish. “You shouldn't be down here. The foundation structure is unstable! Your father sealed this wing because—”
“My father died twenty-seven years ago, Dominic,” I cut him off, stepping down onto the stone stairs while Dante and his operators lined up behind us with raised rifles. “And Grace spent the last three days tied to a chair thirty feet below my desk.”
Dominic’s jaw twitched. He looked at the black barrels of the submachine guns pointed at his chest, then looked down into the dark stairwell.
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“You don't know what you're opening, Roman,” Dominic whispered, his eyes wide with a desperate, frantic terror. “If you go down into the deep cell… everything we’ve built… every asset the Duca family owns in this city… will be seized by the federal government!”
“Then let it burn,” I said icy. “Walk.”
