Chapter 4 - The Rat in the Ranks
Back at the Romano estate, the atmosphere was a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.
Tony Duca sat handcuffed to a heavy iron chair in the center of the subterranean wine cellar beneath the main house. His shoulder had been roughly bandaged by a syndicate medic, and his designer suit was ruined by mud and dried blood.
Standing outside the iron-barred door were Marco, Eddie, and Vincent.
Marco looked like he had aged ten years in a single morning. His hands shook as he lit a cigarette, staring through the bars at Tony with a look of pure, unadulterated venom.
“You used my nephew,” Marco growled, stepping up to the iron bars. “You used Dominic to stab me in the back.”
Tony chuckled, wincing as he moved his wounded shoulder. “Relax, Marco. The boy wanted out. He wanted a big bank account and a villa in Rio. I just gave him a ladder to climb.”
“Where is he?” Marco roared, gripping the iron bars so hard his knuckles turned white. “Where did he fly to?”
Before Tony could answer, the heavy oak door at the top of the cellar stairs opened, and Sylvio walked down, flanked by two guards. Luna stood a few steps behind him, her eyes dark and watchful, refusing to stay upstairs despite Sylvio’s initial protests.
Sylvio walked straight up to Tony, looking down at him with an expression of supreme indifference.
“Dominic's flight didn't make it to South America, Tony,” Sylvio said smoothly.
Tony’s smug smile faltered for the first time. “What are you talking about?”
Sylvio pulled a sleek smartphone from his pocket, tapping the screen and holding it out so Tony could see.
The screen displayed a live satellite tracking map of a private Gulfstream jet circling lazily over the Miami international airspace, escorted by two federal-grade interceptors—interceptors that answered directly to a secret maritime security firm owned by the Romano syndicate.
“Dominic thought he was escaping with three million dollars,” Sylvio said quietly. “He didn't know that every offshore account number you gave him was routed through a tracking proxy managed by Eddie here.”
Eddie Bell, standing nervously near the back of the stairs, pushed his glasses up his nose and offered a weak, apologetic shrug toward Tony.
“You... you set him up from the beginning,” Tony whispered, horror dawning in his eyes.
“You tried to poison a child to get to me, Tony,” Sylvio replied, his voice dropping into a chilling whisper. “You broke every rule of the old code. You brought war to my doorstep. Did you really think I wouldn't check every single line of code in your little financial trap?”
Tony slumped forward in the chair, defeated. The illusion of his grand resurrection shattered completely against the cold, immovable reality of Sylvio’s dominance.
“What are you going to do with me?” Tony asked, his voice cracking.
Sylvio turned away, walking slowly toward the cellar stairs where Luna stood watching. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, turning her so her back was to the prisoner.
“Marcus,” Sylvio called out without looking back.
“Boss?”
“Take our old friend to the quarry outside town. Let him dig his own grave this time. And make sure the dirt is heavy enough that he never climbs out again.”
“No—wait! Sylvio, please!” Tony screamed as Marcus and Vincent hauled him out of the chair, dragging him screaming toward the service exit.
The heavy iron door slammed shut, cutting off the cries.
Silence settled back over the cellar, broken only by the quiet hum of the refrigeration units keeping the vintage wines at fifty-five degrees.
Marco let out a long, ragged breath, dropping his unsmoked cigarette onto the stone floor and crushing it beneath his heel. “I’m sorry, Boss. About Dominic. I failed to keep my house clean.”
“Your house is clean now, Marco,” Sylvio said, walking up the stairs and joining Luna. He looked down at the little girl, whose dark eyes were solemn and steady.
May you like
“Is it over?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” Sylvio answered, taking her small hand as they walked out of the cellar together into the bright, warm afternoon sun. “It’s over.”
