Chapter 5 - The Enemy Across the Table
The morning sun cast long, golden rays across the manicured lawns of Duca Manor, but inside the grand dining hall, the atmosphere was as cold as a morgue.
Elena Duca sat at the head of the mahogany table, dressed head-to-toe in designer mourning black. A heavy diamond necklace rested against her collarbone, catching the light like jagged ice. Around the table sat four regional capos—heavy-set men with expensive suits and cold, calculating eyes—along with Marco, who stood directly behind Elena’s chair like a loyal hound.
"We have confirmed the body in the east courtyard was a decoy," Elena was saying, her smooth, melodic voice carrying effortlessly across the room. "My brother was a cautious animal. But make no mistake—the blood loss was severe. Even if he crawled into a hole somewhere on this estate, he is dead by now."
Marco nodded slowly, his hands resting behind his back. "My men are sweeping the cellars for the third time today, Mrs. Duca. Nothing gets out of this house."
"Good," Elena smiled, taking a sip of black coffee. "By tomorrow morning, the board will vote to transfer sole operational control of the shipping lanes to my division. The Duca family will finally enter the legitimate tech and real estate sectors without a shadow hanging over our heads."
The heavy oak double doors at the far end of the hall swung open with a loud, echoing bang.
Every head at the table snapped toward the entrance.
Stepping into the hall was not a ghost, and not a corpse.
It was Lorenzo Duca.
He wore a fresh black suit, his injured shoulder strapped tight beneath the fabric, his posture straight, cold, and lethal. Behind him walked me, pushing a small service cart containing coffee, while Emma walked beside me, holding my hand and clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Elena’s coffee cup slipped from her fingers, shattering against the marble floor with a sharp, explosive sound.
"L-Lorenzo?" she stammered, her face turning the color of bleached ash.
May you like
Marco’s hand instantly dropped toward his shoulder holster, his eyes widening in pure horror.
"Good morning, sister," Lorenzo said, his voice echoing smoothly through the silent hall as he walked toward the head of the table. "I heard you were planning my funeral. I just wanted to make sure you didn't spend too much on the flowers."
