I Secretly Put Cameras In My Paralyzed Son’s Room To Catch An Assassin—Until His New Caretaker Closed The Door And Did THIS

I was out of ammunition in my primary magazine.

I ejected the empty clip, slammed a fresh fifteen-round mag into the Beretta, and listened to the rhythmic pump of Dominic’s shotgun cycling.

*Ch-chick.*

“You can’t hide behind that pillar forever, Vincent!” Dominic yelled, his footsteps descending the grand staircase. “Your empire died the day Elena got in that car! You’ve been living on borrowed time!”

I didn't answer.

I took off my heavy wool coat, threw it out from the left side of the marble column.

Dominic instantly fired on reflex, the buckshot shredding the dark fabric into ribbons.

In that fraction of a second, while his shotgun was recoiling upward, I stepped out from the *right* side of the column.

I didn't aim for his chest; he was wearing Kevlar. I fired low.

Two hollow-point rounds shattered Dominic’s right knee.

A horrific scream tore from his throat as his leg buckled beneath him. The shotgun clattered down the marble steps, spinning out of reach. Dominic tumbled down the remaining eight steps, landing hard on his back on the broken glass of the foyer.

He scrambled frantically, dragging his ruined leg, clawing at his belt for his secondary sidearm.

I walked toward him, step by step, my boots crunching over the crystal fragments. My face was a mask of stone.

Before his fingers could touch his holster, I brought my heel down on his right wrist with crushing force.

The bones in his hand splintered. The antique silver signet ring sheared off his finger, spinning across the bloodstained marble and coming to rest against my shoe.

Dominic shrieked in agony, clutching his shattered wrist against his chest, staring up at me with terror finally piercing through his arrogant veneer.

“Vincent... please...” he gasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. “It wasn't personal... they were going to squeeze me out... they offered me ten million—”

I raised the Beretta, pressing the warm barrel against the bridge of his nose.

“You made my son live in silence for fourteen months,” I said, every syllable dripping with ice. “You made him think his voice would kill his father.”

“Vincent—wait!”

“Elena sends her regards,” I whispered.