Chapter 4 - The Hunt in the EstateOutside, the rain began to lash against the sprawling windows of the Duca mansion, turning the manicured gardens into a dark, muddy labyrinth.
Vince Moretti crouched behind a stone pillar in the west courtyard, staring at his encrypted mobile phone. His screen should have flashed a confirmation of detonation by now. Instead, it showed a frozen signal.
Damn it, Vince hissed under his breath. Did the kid ruin it?
He had seen the housekeeper’s brat wandering near the service corridor before the guests arrived. He hadn't thought twice about a three-year-old. In his world, children were invisible until they became leverage.
A heavy crunch of gravel behind him made Vince spin around, pistol drawn.
“Looking for someone, Vince?”
Lorenzo stepped out from the shadows of the stone arcade, completely unbothered by the pouring rain. Water slicked back his dark hair and soaked his black suit, but his eyes burned with an icy, lethal fire.
Vince forced a nervous laugh, lowering his weapon just a fraction. “Lorenzo! Thank God. The estate’s security system just glitched. I came out here to check the perimeter sensors—”
“Save it,” Lorenzo interrupted, walking slowly toward him. “The bomb is being dismantled inside. Your little gift box didn't quite deliver the message you wanted.”
Vince’s face drained of color. The mask of loyalty shattered instantly, replaced by a desperate, snarling malice. He raised his gun, pointing it straight at Lorenzo’s chest.
“You should have stepped down a year ago, Duca!” Vince shouted over the roar of the rain. “You went soft! You brought maids and brutes into our inner circle while the syndicate was bleeding money! The Chicago syndicate offered me the whole eastern seaboard if I cleared the throne!”
“And you thought killing a six-year-old girl on her birthday was the way to do it?” Lorenzo’s voice was dangerously calm.
“Business is business,” Vince sneered. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Before Vince could fire, a deafening crack echoed through the courtyard.
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Vince’s right hand exploded in a burst of blood as a high-caliber bullet ripped through his wrist, sending his pistol clattering into the mud. He screamed, clutching his mangled hand, dropping to his knees in the dirt.
Marco stepped out from the balcony overhead, holding a smoking sniper rifle, lowering the scope with a grim smile.
