Chapter 6 - THE EMPTY THRONE ROOMUpstairs, the grand foyer of the Duca mansion was bathed in eerie moonlight pouring through the stained-glass dome.
Vincent Romano strode through the double doors, flanked by three heavily armed mercenaries wearing tactical vests and night-vision goggles. Vincent wore a custom charcoal suit, not a single hair out of place, looking every bit the sophisticated corporate titan. He casually adjusted his cuffs, stepped over a crushed vase, and walked straight into Lorenzo’s private study.
He lowered himself into the high-backed leather armchair behind the massive mahogany desk—the very chair Sophia had seen him sitting in two hours earlier.
“Sweep the upper floors,” Vincent ordered the lead mercenary without looking up. “Find the doctor, find the old man’s body if he’s expired, and make sure the housekeeper and her brat are erased. I want this estate clean by dawn.”
“Understood, boss,” the mercenary grunted, motioning for his men to fan out toward the grand staircase.
“You always did have terrible taste in furniture, Vincent,” a voice echoed from the shadowed archway of the study’s private bar.
Vincent froze. The color drained from his face as he violently jerked his head toward the sound.
Stepping out from the shadows was Lorenzo Duca. His white shirt was still stained with dried blood, his knuckles raw, and his gaze fixed on Vincent with the unblinking intensity of an apex predator. He casually tossed the heavy iron pipe onto the Persian rug, the dull thud vibrating through the opulent room.
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Vincent’s hand instinctively dove toward his shoulder holster, his breath catching in his throat. “You... you were supposed to be dead. Vance swore he kept you under control!”
“Aris Vance is a mediocre doctor and an even worse killer,” Lorenzo replied smoothly, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate strides. “Just like you, Vincent. You always relied on everyone else to do your dirty work.”
