Chapter 5 - The Wrong NameElena rushed toward Marco, grabbing his arms as if she were about to collapse.
“Marco! Oh, God, Marco, I just heard the police scanner! There was an explosion in the eastern tunnel! The car—the Mercedes—it’s gone!” she cried, tears spilling perfectly down her cheeks.
Marco played his part masterfully, pulling her into a tight, comforting embrace, whispering soothing nonsense into her hair while his eyes darted around the empty foyer.
“I know, Elena, I know,” Marco said, patting her back. “I tried to stop him from going. I told him it wasn't safe. But you know how stubborn Vincent can be—”
Marco stopped dead.
His muscles locked instantly. A microscopic drop of cold sweat broke out along his hairline.
Elena pulled back, staring up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. But her expression had completely changed. The frantic, terrified fiancée was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness.
“What did you just say?” Marco whispered, his voice tightening.
Elena blinked, realizing the catastrophic slip of her tongue. “I... I said Lorenzo... you know how stubborn Lorenzo can be...”
“No,” Marco said, stepping back, his eyes narrowing into slits as his hand slid toward his shoulder holster. “You didn't say Lorenzo. You said Vincent.”
The heavy oak front doors of the mansion slowly swung open.
A sharp, metallic click echoed through the grand foyer.
Marco spun around, his hand flying to his gun. But he froze.
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Standing in the doorway, bathed in the sharp morning sunlight, stood Lorenzo Duca.
His suit was clean. His hair was undisturbed. And in his right hand, he held his father’s gold pocket watch, letting it dangle loosely by its chain.
