The heavy iron door clicked shut behind Dr. Vance, echoing through the vaulted corridor like a falling gavel. Lorenzo didn’t look up from his desk. He already knew the verdict before the man spoke. He knew it by the way Vance’s loafers dragged against the imported Persian rug, and by the tight, sterile smell of hand sanitizer the physician carried with him like a shroud.

"A two-year-old child found it," Lorenzo said, standing up slowly from the chair. He towered over the physician, his shadow swallowing Vance whole. "A baby with no medical degree, no lab coat, and no salary walked past a dozen armed guards, sniffed out your trash behind the air vent, and told me the room smelled stinky."

Vance opened his mouth, gasping for air like a fish out of water. "It’s... it’s a misunderstanding. Those aren't my notes—"

Lorenzo didn't let him finish. He closed the distance between them in two massive strides, grabbed Vance by the lapels of his expensive Italian suit, and slammed him hard against the oak bookshelf. The amber medicine bottles rattled violently, several tumbling off the shelf to shatter on the carpet.

"Who is paying you?" Lorenzo hissed, pressing the cold barrel of the Colt directly beneath Vance’s chin. "Is it the Calabrians? Is it the board of directors at the hospital? Or was it someone closer to home?"

"I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!" Vance shrieked, tears springing to his eyes as the cold steel bit into his skin. "I didn't want to do it! They have my daughter! In Zurich! They said if I didn't keep the boy on the edge of death—just alive enough to keep you distracted from the syndicate takeover, but sick enough never to inherit—they would cut her throat!"

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"It’s... it’s Marcus," Vance sobbed, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "Marcus Vance... no, Marcus Sterling! Your own chief legal counsel! He’s been working with the federal prosecutors and the rival families to liquidate your assets the moment Lucas dies!"

Marcus Sterling. The man who sat at Lorenzo’s right hand during every major business transaction. The man who had managed the Duca estate’s legal holdings for over a decade.

"He promised me safe passage to Switzerland once the boy passed," Vance whimpered, his legs trembling so hard he could barely stand. "Please, Lorenzo... I have a family too. Please..."

Lorenzo stared at the weeping physician for a long, agonizing moment. Then, very slowly, he lowered the hammer of the gun.

Vance let out a ragged, desperate breath of relief, sagging against the bookshelf. "Thank you... oh, thank you, Lorenzo—"

"I didn't say you were leaving," Lorenzo whispered coldly.

Before Vance could react, Lorenzo struck him across the face with the heavy butt of the Colt. The physician crumpled silently to the floor, unconscious, blood pooling slowly from a deep laceration on his temple.

Lorenzo didn't look down at him. He pulled out his encrypted satellite phone, tapped a single speed-dial number, and waited for the click on the other end.

"Sal," Lorenzo said into the receiver.

"Boss? What's the word?" Sal’s voice crackled through the secure line.

"Bring three clean cars to the rear service gate. And get Marcus Sterling on the phone. Tell him I need him at the estate immediately to sign the asset transfer papers."

"Yes, boss. What about the doctor?"