Chapter 17 - Shadows in the Rearview Mirror
Though the estate was peaceful, the underworld never truly sleeps.
Fifty miles away, in a dimly lit warehouse near the Baltimore docks, a lone figure stood watching a bank of secure computer monitors. It was Viktor Petrov, the last remaining lieutenant of the shattered Calabrian syndicate, who had managed to slip away before the federal net tightened.
On the screen, live security footage of the Duca estate flickered in high definition—showing Lucas laughing in the garden, and Lorenzo standing tall on the marble steps.
Viktor’s hand curled around a heavy silver lighter, snapping the cap open and shut with a metallic click. He had spent ten years building the network that Lorenzo was now systematically dismantling. Millions of dollars in offshore capital had evaporated overnight because a two-year-old toddler had smelled a chemical pouch behind a wall vent.
"You think you won, Lorenzo," Viktor muttered to the empty room, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "You think you can turn an empire into a charity and walk away clean."
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He reached for a secure satellite phone resting on the metal crate beside him and dialed a single, encrypted eleven-digit number—a direct line to a mercenary cell currently operating out of Eastern Europe.
"It’s time," Viktor said into the receiver. "The Duca boy is finally walking outside the walls. Make sure the package is delivered before the weekend."
