Chapter 2 - The Serpent at the Table
Robert Langley stepped into the war room.
At sixty-two, Robert looked less like a syndicate consigliere and more like a retired university professor. He wore a tailored navy coat over a tweed vest, his silver hair neatly combed back, his wire-rimmed spectacles resting on his nose. He carried a leather briefcase in his left hand.
He stopped three steps inside the threshold, his eyes landing instantly on the empty leather desk chair.
The monitor was still glowing green. The text log was still open across the central screen.
"Maya?" Robert called out, his voice smooth, warm, and paternal. "Sweetheart, where are you? It’s not safe down here."
Silence answered him, save for the rhythmic, steady hum of the server fans.
Robert’s expression shifted. The warm, elderly smile melted away, replaced by a sharp, calculating coldness that made his sharp features look almost skeletal. He set the briefcase down on the glass table and reached into his coat pocket.
When his hand came out, he was holding a suppressed .38 revolver.
"I know you're in here, little girl," Robert said, his voice dropping into a dry, rasping whisper. "You always were too smart for your own good. Just like your father. Mateo couldn't leave things alone either."
Behind the server rack, Alessandro felt Maya’s small hand clutch the back of his suit jacket. She didn't make a sound. She didn't even cry. She just held on, her small chest pressing against his back.
"He asked too many questions about the harbor routes," Robert continued, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the center of the room. "He found out about my private accounts in Zurich. I offered him a piece of the pie, you know. I told him we could share the family empire once old man Duca passed away. But Mateo had morals. Moral men don't survive in this business, child."
Robert raised the revolver, aiming it toward the gap between the primary server banks.
"And now Alessandro is going to take the fall for the entire enterprise," Robert chuckled softly, a bitter, dry sound. "The federal marshals will hit the front gates in forty minutes. They’ll find Alessandro surrounded by offshore accounts, illegal weapon manifests, and five million in marked bills. By the time he realizes I framed him, he’ll be doing life in ADX Florence. And I’ll be sitting in a villa in Marbella, living off the Duca fortune."
"You always were a terrible negotiator, Robert."
Alessandro stepped out from the shadow of the server rack.
His Beretta was aimed squarely at the center of Robert Langley’s chest.
Robert froze. His eyes widened behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his mouth opening slightly as he took in the sight of the head of the Duca empire standing before him, perfectly calm, his dark eyes burning with lethal certainty.
"Alessandro," Robert stammered, his aristocratic composure cracking instantly. "I... I was looking for the child. She wandered off—"
"Save it," Alessandro commanded quietly. "The text log is still on the monitor, Robert. I read the message you sent to your handlers at four in the morning."
Robert looked past Alessandro’s shoulder, catching sight of the small green screen flashing behind him. His grip on the revolver tightened.
"You don't understand, Alessandro," Robert whispered, taking a cautious half-step back toward the open doorway. "The family was weak! Your father was soft! Mateo was going to ruin everything with his pathetic conscience! I built this empire! I earned that money!"
"You didn't build anything," Alessandro said, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. "You stole from the men who trusted you. You murdered my brother. You tried to murder his child."
"She’s a loose end!" Robert snarled, his sanity finally slipping completely.
He snapped his arm up, aiming his revolver at Alessandro’s head.
Pfft. Pfft.
Two quiet, suppressed pops echoed through the subterranean room.
Robert’s revolver dropped from his lifeless fingers, clattering against the concrete floor. He stumbled backward, his hands clutching his chest, staring at Alessandro with wide, unbelieving eyes before collapsing heavily against the glass wall.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Alessandro lowered his weapon, his chest heaving as he stared down at the traitor he had raised like family for thirty years.
A tiny hand slipped into his right palm.
Alessandro looked down. Maya was standing beside him, her sea-green eyes clear, looking down at Robert’s body without a single tear.
"Is it over?" she asked softly.
May you like
Alessandro looked toward the monitor. The timer on the raid report was counting down. 38 minutes until 05:00 AM.
"No," Alessandro said, bending down to pick Maya up into his arms, resting her small head against his shoulder. "It’s just beginning. We have thirty minutes to burn this house to the ground."
