Chapter 97: Chapter 97
"I want charity houses in Australia to increase. The non-taxable charitable contributions to local charities should go up by thirty-five percent. And start the two new institutes for destitute children," Dominic’s voice was calm, and collected, as he spoke into his phone. He gave out his orders, and nothing in his tone betrayed the storm boiling under his skin.
The door clicked open. He didn’t look up, but he already knew who it was from the silence that followed. Also, just one person has had the door unlock now. After what happened.
Ronan walked in proudly, his eyes scanning the office space.
"I heard about yesterday," he said flatly, as his roaming eyes landed on Dominic’s face, and scanned him too. "Are you okay?"
Dominic finally raised his gaze from the papers on his desk. His jaw was tight. His gaze was cold, and unreadable, when his stare met Ronan’s without blinking.
"How did you know about me?"
Ronan smirked like it wasn’t a question worth asking. "Carlos sent me a message."
He reached for his pocket, and he pulled out a gold card. He flicked it across the desk with just enough force for it to slide perfectly into Dominic’s reach.
Dominic caught it before it could fall. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking at the side of his face.
"I already sent Grace out of the country," Ronan said casually, taking a seat, and leaning back on it like it was just another business update. "And Dominic—" his voice hardened, "we should end this. Wipe Carlos off the earth..." he paused, studied Dominic’s expression, and added. "Alongside Theresa."
Silence rested between them.
Dominic didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back in his chair. The weight of his stare on Ronan was heavy enough to crush glass.
He let the silence breathe, stretch, and choke Ronan, before his lips reacted. And when he finally parted his lips, his words cut like knives. "Do you know what you’re saying?"
"Yes," Ronan shot back. "I’m saying it’s time we clean house. Carlos won’t stop, Dominic. You know it. He’s already inside. He knows where to hurt you."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "And you think playing executioner will fix it?"
"It will end it."
"Or escalate it." Dominic pointed out.
Ronan leaned forward. He scoffed lightly, and with a low voice, he said. "You want to sit here and calculate. Do you want to sit here, and play chess with a man who’s already flipping the board? He’ll keep coming. He’ll come for you, he’ll come for her—"
"Don’t," Dominic’s voice cut Ronan off sharply. His eyes burned now, with a dangerous edge that promised violence.
Ronan didn’t flinch. "Don’t what? Don’t say her name? You think silence keeps her safe? Dominic, wake up. The longer you hesitate, the closer Carlos gets."
Dominic’s hand tightened around the gold card until the edges dug into his skin. He wasn’t the clean CEO now. Every trace of polish was gone.
"You don’t order me," he said softly, yet deadly enough. "Not in this."
"This isn’t about orders." Ronan tsked, and ran his hand through his hair. "It’s survival."
"If we wipe Carlos, the ripple doesn’t stop with him. We’ll be cleaning blood for years. Theresa is his rope. Cut the rope, and he’ll hang himself." Dominic said, his eyes not moving.
Ronan exhaled sharply. It was almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "You’re gambling." He spat out, almost at the edge.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "Which is what you should have thought of before coming here," he breathed sharply. "There are consequences, brother,"
Ronan’s eyes flickered, narrowing as well. "You think I don’t know that?" His voice sharpened, a sudden edge breaking through his calm. "I’ve been doing this long before you decided to play CEO in your glass towers. Don’t lecture me about consequences, brother."
"And I’ve been cleaning up your long trail of mess right behind you while playing CEO," Dominic shot back. If he was offended, he didn’t show it.
Ronan finally flinched. He leaned back, and sat properly.
Dominic finally leaned forward, his voice even colder now, deliberate. "You should remember the difference between killing to clean the board... and killing to feel powerful. One makes you a strategist. The other makes you reckless."
Ronan’s jaw ticked. "And what would you call what Carlos did yesterday? Strategy? He’s not playing chess anymore, Dom. He’s throwing knives at our backs. If we don’t cut him first, he’ll cut deeper. You think I don’t know the cost? I sent my wife out of the country for it."
"Think, Dominic," Ronan exhaled sharply, pissed. "Think,"
"That’s what I’ve been doing all my life. I think, so you never have to,"
Ronan’s nostrils flared. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. He ran a hand down his jaw, with his eyes fixed hard on Dominic.
"You always think you’re the only one carrying the world," Ronan muttered. "As if the rest of us are just standing around, waiting for you to hand out instructions."
Dominic’s gaze didn’t waver. Rather, it hardened. "No. I know I’m the only one carrying it without dropping pieces all over the fucking place."
That landed.
Ronan’s lips pressed tight, the vein at his temple throbbed. He stood, pacing once, twice, like a caged animal trying to decide if it should lunge or retreat.
Dominic just watched him.
Finally, he stopped, turned back, and faced Dominic. "You want to drag this out, and play a long game, fine. But don’t you dare pretend you’re untouchable. Carlos has already chosen his battlefield. And he’s not playing with rules. If you can’t put him down, he’ll use the one thing you’ve got weakness for."
Dominic’s shoulders stiffened, but his face remained stern. "Careful."
"I’m already being careful." Ronan’s voice was quiet now. "She’s your soft spot. He knows it. I know it. And the whole fucking city will know it if you don’t decide fast."
For a moment after those words, neither of them breathed. The air between them was charged, and loaded thick with history, and years of buried grudges and unspoken truths.
Dominic pushed back his chair. He stood, straightening to his full height, and walked around the desk until he was toe to toe with his brother.
His voice was low when he spoke, lethal in its calm. "You want blood. Fine. You always have. But don’t confuse it with strategy. I won’t burn everything down just to make myself feel like a god. You want Carlos dead? You’ll wait. You’ll wait until I say when. And if you move before that, if you touch him, or her..." Dominic’s eyes narrowed, and hardened with no light in them. "You’ll find out just how deep my loyalty runs. And just how cold my hand can get when it’s family I’m cutting down."
Ronan stared at him. For a second, something flickered in his eyes—anger, maybe respect, maybe both. Then he laughed, low and humorless.
"You sound more like Father every day," he said, shaking his head.
Dominic didn’t blink. "That’s the difference between us. I learned from him. You just inherited his temper."
Ronan nodded. He slipped his hands into his pockets, his jaw still tight. "Then you’d better make your move fast, Dominic. Because the longer you wait, the more pieces fall off your board. And Carlos doesn’t play with scraps."
Saying those words, Ronan left. The click of the door echoed.
Dominic stood alone in his office, with the gold card still biting into his palm. He glanced at it once, then set it on the desk with deliberate precision.
His jaw was fixed, and his chest steady, but his eyes... his eyes burned with the truth he’d never admit out loud.
Ronan wasn’t wrong, and that made everything worse.