Chapter 4 - The Confession in the Dark
The cold night air rushed through the shattered windows of the estate, carrying the smell of cordite, melted wax, and damp earth. Outside the perimeter, police sirens wailed in the distance, but Dominic knew they wouldn't breach the private estate for another ten minutes—his security detail on the gates ensured a delay for high-profile events.
Dominic gripped his pistol, his dark eyes locked onto Beatrice.
"You planned all of this," he said, realization dawning with absolute clarity. "The sniper, the infiltration, the breach... you knew Mateo was selling the ledger, and you used his arrogant dare to get close to me."
"I knew Mateo was a liability, and I knew you were too arrogant to check my background because you were distracted by his childish games," Beatrice replied unflinchingly, standing her ground in her ruined emerald dress. Her dark auburn hair was slightly disheveled, falling in loose, striking waves around her face. She looked less like a victim and more like a queen of the underworld taking her throne. "I didn't want you dead, Dominic. If I wanted you dead, you would have caught a bullet when we were waltzing. I needed you alive to see who was stabbing you in the back."
Dominic stared at her for a long, agonizing moment.
Instead of anger, a strange, dark respect ignited in his chest. For years, he had been surrounded by sycophants, liars, and killers who smiled while plotting his downfall. Beatrice Gallagher had walked into a room full of wolves, let them mock her, let them treat her as a punchline, and then dismantled the entire operation with a calm, surgical precision that left him breathless.
"And Mateo?" Dominic asked quietly.
"He ran toward the private helipad behind the east gardens," Beatrice said, pointing toward the heavy glass conservatory doors. "He thinks he can fly out before your loyalists realize what happened. But I disabled the fuel line on his chopper while you were busy arguing with him about the dance."
Dominic let out a low, dark laugh—a sound devoid of humor.
"You're a terrifying woman, Beatrice."
"You haven't seen anything yet," she replied, walking past him toward the conservatory. "Are we going to catch a rat, or are you going to stand there admiring my dress?"
Dominic followed her into the cool shadows of the glasshouse.
Moonlight poured through the massive glass panels, illuminating the tropical ferns and orchids. Stumbling frantically near the far exit was Mateo Bianchi, clutching the stolen ledger to his chest like a drowning man holding a spar.
"Stay back!" Mateo screamed, whipping around with a snub-nosed revolver trembling in his sweat-slicked hand. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and unhinged. "I swear to God, Dominic, I'll blow the books to hell! I'll burn the whole organization down!"
Dominic stepped out from the shadows, his expression carved from granite.
"You already tried, Mateo," Dominic said coldly, his voice echoing off the glass walls. "You sold out our people, you brought assassins into a room full of innocents, and you thought you could walk away with my legacy."
"She set you up!" Mateo shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Beatrice, who stood calmly by a towering palm tree. "She's a Gallagher! She's here for revenge! She played you from the second you stepped onto that dance floor!"
Dominic stopped three paces away from Mateo.
"I know," Dominic said softly.
Mateo blinked, horror dawning in his eyes as he realized there was no escape. He raised the revolver toward Dominic’s chest—
Bang.
The shot didn't come from Dominic.
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From across the conservatory, Beatrice’s Glock flashed once in the moonlight. A clean, precise round struck Mateo’s wrist, sending his revolver spinning violently into the dirt. Mateo shrieked, clutching his shattered hand as he collapsed to his knees.
Dominic walked forward, picked up the fallen ledger from the dirt, brushed it off against his trousers, and tucked it securely inside his jacket. Then, he looked down at Mateo whimpering on the ground before turning his gaze back to Beatrice.
