Chapter 16 - The Reckoning at the Top
Victor Moretti took a slow drag from his cigar, blowing a thin ring of gray smoke into the stagnant air of the observation deck. "I have to hand it to you, nephew," Victor called down, his voice echoing loudly through the cavernous space. "I thought putting a bullet in your spine and leaving you in that ditch would permanently retire your ambition. But here you are, rolling right back into your own grave."
Dominic didn't stop moving. He didn't waste his breath shouting back. With Vince covering the rear and Isabella holding a steady line near the freight elevator, Dominic powered his wheelchair straight toward the heavy steel-framed spiral staircase leading up to the executive office. A motorized lift ramp, installed specifically for his post-injury mobility, had been hacked and wired into the building's main control panel by his tech specialists an hour ago. With a sharp press of a hidden remote button clipped to his lapel, the heavy steel platform engaged, lifting Dominic smoothly and rapidly up toward the balcony level.
Victor’s smug expression faltered for a fraction of a second as he watched his nephew ascend, completely defying the helpless narrative he had constructed in his mind.
"You always were arrogant, Victor," Dominic’s voice rang out, cold and flat as he reached the top of the platform and rolled smoothly onto the hardwood floor of the executive office. "You mistook physical paralysis for a lack of teeth. You thought an empire was held together by walking legs instead of ruthless execution."
Victor discarded his cigar, his hand dropping sharply toward the pearl-handled revolver resting on the mahogany desk beside him. "You think a chair makes you a match for me? You're nothing more than a cripple playing king!"
Before Victor’s fingers could even close around the grip of his weapon, Dominic drew his titanium-reinforced baton with blinding speed and hurled it across the room. The heavy metal rod struck Victor squarely across the wrist with a sickening crack, sending the revolver skidding across the polished floorboards out of reach.
Victor cried out, clutching his broken wrist as Dominic’s wheelchair rolled forward, stopping mere inches from where his uncle c.o.w.e.r.e.d against the mahogany desk. Dominic looked down at the man who had tried to steal his life, his mind completely clear of grief, fear, or hesitation. The pain was gone. There was only the cold, satisfying weight of absolute justice.
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"Where does the pain live now, Uncle?" Dominic whispered softly, his eyes burning with the cold fire of a restored empire.
Victor stared up into his nephew's eyes and finally understood the true depth of his mistake: Dominic Moretti was never broken. He was merely reloading.
