Chapter 13 - The Senator’s Reception
The Capitol Hill townhouse stood behind a wrought-iron fence draped in manicured ivy. Inside, Senator Richard Vance was pouring himself a glass of twenty-year-old scotch, celebrating the imminent liquidation of the Duca estate. According to his calculations, Marcus Sterling was supposed to finalize the asset transfer papers by noon today. Once signed, the East Coast empire would belong to the syndicate, and the Duca name would be nothing more than a footnote in a criminal indictment.
A sharp, violent crash echoed from the front hallway.
Richard spun around, his scotch glass slipping from his fingers to shatter against the imported hardwood floor. The heavy front doors of the townhouse didn't just open—they blew inward, splintering their hinges as three black-clad enforcers flooded the foyer, subduing the private security detail in less than three seconds without firing a single shot.
Through the parting guards walked Lorenzo Duca.
He wore a dark wool overcoat, his collar turned up against the autumn chill, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He didn't look like a grieving widower. He looked like an executioner stepping onto a battlefield.
"Senator," Lorenzo said smoothly, his voice cutting through the silent, terrified foyer as he crossed the threshold.
Richard backed away, his face turning the color of chalk, his hand fumbling blindly for the panic button hidden beneath his mahogany desk. "Duca! What is the meaning of this? You’re trespassing! I’ll have the FBI—"
Before the Senator’s finger could hit the switch, a heavy hand clamped down on his wrist like a steel vise. Sal stepped out from the shadows behind him, twisting the Senator’s arm back with brutal efficiency until the man cried out in pain.
"Don't bother with the button, Richard," Lorenzo said softly, stepping closer until he towered over the politician. "The phone lines in this district were routed through our servers twenty minutes ago. Nobody is coming to save you."
Lorenzo pulled the rusted wooden box from beneath his coat and dropped it heavily onto the desk, right beside the spilled scotch.
Richard stared down at the exposed locket and the confidential police reports. All color drained from his face, leaving his lips trembling violently.
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"You... you found it," Richard choked out.
"Your nephew confessed to everything," Lorenzo said, his tone dangerously calm. "He told me about the poison, the contracts, and the little girl you’re holding in Zurich as leverage. But most importantly, he told me who gave the final order to rig Isabella's car three years ago."
