Chapter 3 - The Doctor’s ArrivalDown in the dark, damp cellar, time had lost its meaning.
Lorenzo DeLuca’s eyes fluttered open. His head throbbed as if split by an axe, and his lungs burned with every breath. He tried to move his arms, but a searing pain shot through his right wrist where the heavy plastic binders had bitten deep into his flesh, leaving raw, bleeding gashes.
“Easy, Don Lorenzo. Don't fight it,” a soft, gravelly voice murmured.
Lorenzo blinked through the gloom. Kneeling beside him on the cold stone floor was Dr. Enzo Ricci, opening a sterile metal case filled with gauze, antiseptics, and surgical instruments.
“Enzo...?” Lorenzo rasped, his voice rough as sandpaper. “Am I... dead?”
“Not yet, you stubborn old fool,” Dr. Ricci muttered, working quickly to clean the deep cuts on Lorenzo’s wrists. “Though you came terrifyingly close. If little Emma hadn't stumbled down here looking for a cat, you’d be fertilizer by noon.”
Lorenzo tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea hit him, forcing his head back against the iron chair. Memories of the previous night flashed through his mind like jagged glass: a late-night drink in his study, Vincent standing behind him with a glass of scotch, a sharp prick in his neck, and then... darkness.
“Vincent,” Lorenzo growled, the name tasting like poison. “It was Vincent.”
“We know,” Sophia’s voice cut softly through the shadows.
She stood near the bottom of the cellar stairs, holding a warm damp cloth and a glass of water. Beside her stood three-year-old Emma, who was quietly holding up a pair of bright pink craft scissors with one broken blade, looking very proud of her handiwork.
“He thinks you’re dead, Uncle Lorenzo,” Emma whispered seriously, walking over and placing her tiny hand on his knee. “I cut the string with my scissors, but the rabbit ear broke.”
Lorenzo looked down at the child. The most feared mafia boss in New York—a man who had ordered executions without batting an eye—felt a lump rise in his throat. He gently placed his bloodied hand on top of Emma’s tiny fingers.
“You saved my life, little one,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He looked up at Sophia, his dark eyes burning with deadly resolve. “And you, Sophia... you didn't call Vincent. Why?”
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Sophia’s expression was cold, hardened by years of protecting her daughter in a world governed by monsters. “Because an hour before I found you, I saw him sitting at your desk, Mr. DeLuca. He wasn't mourning. He was taking your seat.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. A dark, terrifying smile touched his bruised lips. “Then let him sit there a little longer. Let him enjoy the view while he still owns it.”
