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The heavy mahogany doors of the east wing did not creak when Lorenzo pushed them open; they swung with a quiet, expensive finality, as if they knew better than to make a sound. / Chapter 9 / 10

Chapter 9 - The Wrath of the DucaThe Ferrari skidded to a violent halt, spinning 180 degrees before the passenger door flew open.

Step out of the smoke stepped Lorenzo Duca.

He wasn't wearing a coat. His black tactical turtleneck was torn at the shoulder, revealing a fresh graze of blood across his skin, but his hands were steady as granite. In each hand, he held a customized Sig Sauer, firing with cold, mechanical precision before the remaining five attackers could even swing their weapons around.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots. Three bodies hitting the wet asphalt with sickening thuds.

The last surviving gunman dropped his weapon, throwing his hands up in surrender as Lorenzo walked toward him through the fog, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated death.

"Who sent you?" Lorenzo’s voice cut through the wind like a razor blade.

"The... the Calabrian syndicate," the man choked out, shaking with terror. "They said... they said you were weak! They said saving a maid's brat was your undoing!"

Lorenzo didn't blink. He raised the pistol and fired into the man's shoulder, dropping him to his knees with a shrieking wail.

"Tell them," Lorenzo whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from the man's ear, "that the Duca empire isn't built on bloodlines. It's built on a promise."

He fired one final shot.

Silence reclaimed the cliff road, broken only by the hiss of steam rising from the ruined engine and the relentless crashing of the waves far below.

Gianni stood up from behind the Mercedes, wiping a smear of blood from his forehead, while Clara slowly pushed open the shattered door, holding trembling Mia in her arms.

Lorenzo turned around, walking slowly through the debris toward them. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, the dark smudges of soot on his cheeks, and the absolute, terrifying gentleness in his eyes as he looked at the little girl.

Mia lifted her head from Clara’s shoulder, her big brown eyes blinking in the fog. She didn't look at the bodies on the road. She looked straight at Lorenzo, holding up the silver medallion he had given her earlier.

"The dog sent us," Mia whispered solemnly.

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My phone was still pressed against my ear. On the other end, Marcus—my most trusted lieutenant—was breathing heavily. The sound of muffled police radios and shouting filtered through the speaker.

My phone was still pressed against my ear. On the other end, Marcus—my m...

Detective Maria Santos tapped her fingernail against the glossy photograph spread across the metal interrogation table. The overhead fluorescent light hummed, casting a sterile, buzzing shadow over the room.

Detective Maria Santos tapped her fingernail against the glossy photogra...

Katherine did not cry when she walked into their immaculate suburban home. The silence of the empty house, which usually felt lonely on the nights Reginald claimed to be working late, now felt like a tactical advantage.

Katherine did not cry when she walked into their immaculate suburban hom...

A rare, ghost-like shadow of a smile touched the corners of Lorenzo’s mouth.

He reached out, taking Clara and Mia by the arms, and guided them toward his Ferrari. "Get in," he said softly. "We're going home."

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