Chapter 2 - The Red Light in the DarkThe grand hall of the Duca estate emptied in less than sixty seconds. The expensive crystal chandeliers hummed with lingering electricity, casting fractured reflections across the abandoned champagne flutes and scattered silver trays.
Only a handful of men remained.
Lorenzo Duca stood near the heavy oak doors, holding his six-year-old daughter Isabella tightly against his chest. Her small hands clutched the lapels of his black suit, her face buried in his shoulder as silent sobs wracked her little body.
A few feet away, at the base of the stage, the red light inside the black case blinked with cold, mathematical precision. Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Get the bomb squad from the north gate,” Lorenzo ordered, his voice dangerously low. “And lock down every perimeter exit. No vehicle leaves this property. If a bird flies over the fence, shoot it down.”
Marco, his chief enforcer, stepped forward, his face slick with sweat. “Boss, the lines are jammed. Someone scrambled the local frequencies right when the girl spoke. It’s a remote trigger.”
Lorenzo’s dark eyes narrowed. He looked across the empty hall to where Grace, the housekeeper, knelt on the marble floor, wrapping her arms around her three-year-old daughter Emma, who was trembling like a leaf.
“You,” Lorenzo said, stepping toward them.
Grace flinched, shielding Emma with her body. “Please, Mr. Duca! She didn’t mean to cause trouble! We didn't know!”
“Who was in the hallway behind the kitchen?” Lorenzo asked, his tone devoid of mercy. “Name the man.”
Grace swallowed hard, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I... I don't know his name, sir! He was wearing a catering uniform. He told me he was sent by the event coordinator to adjust the gift display!”
Lorenzo stared down at Emma. The toddler looked up, her wide, innocent eyes reflecting the terrifying green and red glow of the device on the stage.
“Emma,” Lorenzo said, kneeling down so he was eye-level with the child. His intimidating aura seemed to soften just a fraction when he looked at her. “Did you see his face clearly? Did he have a mark, a tattoo, anything?”
Emma sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “He had a silver ring. Shaped like a snake. On his right thumb.”
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Marco’s eyes widened. He exchanged a terrifying look with Lorenzo.
“Vince,” Marco whispered. “That’s Vince Moretti’s signature ring.”
