Chapter 4 - The Poisoned FeastSaturday night arrived under a blanket of thick fog that rolled in off the Atlantic, smothering the city in a ghost-like haze. The Duca mansion stood illuminated against the dark sky, its heavy stone walls gleaming with dampness.
Inside the grand library, a fire roared in the massive marble fireplace. The room was breathtaking—lined with thousands of leather-bound books, crystal chandeliers, and a massive mahogany table at the center where the historic territory agreement lay waiting.
Twelve men sat around the table.
On one side sat Lorenzo, flanked by Matteo and two of his oldest, most steadfast captains.
On the other side sat Victor Romano—a ruthless, white-haired patriarch with cold, reptilian eyes—alongside his top lieutenants.
Marco Salvi sat at the head of the table between Lorenzo and Victor, acting as the mediator, while Vivien stood near the fireplace in a stunning dark red velvet gown, holding a glass of wine.
Sophia was in the room as well, moving quietly in her black maid's uniform, serving top-shelf Scotch to the gathered mob bosses. Her heart was beating so hard she was terrified the men would hear it over the crackle of the fire. Every time she passed Marco, her hands trembled, but she forced herself to maintain a timid, subservient expression.
Lorenzo caught her eye briefly as she poured his drink. Be ready, his steady gaze communicated.
Victor Romano leaned forward, resting his heavy, ringed hands on the table. "Thirty years of blood, Lorenzo," the old man said, his voice raspy from decades of cigars. "Thirty years of my boys and your boys killing each other over docks, construction contracts, and territory. Tonight, we end it. My daughter carries your blood. Our families become one."
Lorenzo stared at the old man, his expression unreadable. "A powerful union, Victor. Assuming, of course, that the bloodline is pure."
A sudden, sharp silence fell over the room.
Marco’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Lorenzo, we discussed this. Let's not bring up old awkwardness during a historical moment."
"I am merely stating a fact, Marco," Lorenzo said smoothly, picking up his glass. "In our world, legacy is everything. A man who builds an empire on a lie is a fool."
Victor Romano frowned, looking between Lorenzo and Marco. "What the hell are you talking about, Duca? Are you disrespecting my daughter?"
"Never, Victor," Lorenzo said, standing up slowly. The sheer physical authority of his presence commanded the entire room. Even the heavily armed guards standing near the doors shifted uncomfortably. "I have immense respect for Vivien. She is a master of deception. Just like my Underboss."
Vivien’s face drained of color. "Lorenzo, please... what are you doing?"
Lorenzo reached into his inner suit pocket. Marco’s hand immediately moved toward his shoulder holster under the table, but before he could draw, Matteo stepped up behind Marco, pressing the cold, silenced barrel of a custom pistol directly against the base of Marco’s skull.
"Don't move, Marco," Matteo growled in his ear. "Put your hands on the table. Now."
The library erupted into chaos. Victor Romano’s guards reached for their weapons, but the doors to the library burst open. A dozen of Lorenzo’s personal, die-hard loyalists flooded the room, automatic weapons raised, instantly neutralizing Romano’s men.
"What is the meaning of this treason?!" Victor Romano roared, standing up in a rage. "Lorenzo, you invited us here under a truce!"
"The truce stands for you, Victor," Lorenzo said calmly, pulling a thick Manila envelope from his jacket and dropping it onto the center of the table. "You were used, just as I was. Open it."
Victor, his chest heaving with anger, snatched up the envelope and pulled out a stack of documents and high-resolution photographs.
They were recent DNA paternity reports from a private, independent laboratory in Switzerland, along with high-definition surveillance stills showing Marco and Vivien together at a private estate in the Hamptons over the past six months.
Victor stared at the documents, his jaw tightening as his eyes scanned the genetic match results. The child Vivien was carrying was not a Duca.
It was 99.9% a match to Marco Salvi.
"You bitch..." Victor whispered, looking at his daughter with a mix of utter disgust and horror. "You played me? You used my family's honor to put your bastard on the Duca throne?"
Vivien fell to her knees, tears breaking through her heavy makeup. "Father, please! Lorenzo was never going to give us full control! Marco promised we would have everything!"
Marco, feeling the cold steel of Matteo’s gun pressing into his neck, didn't panic. Instead, a twisted, bitter laugh escaped his lips.
"So you found out," Marco sneered, looking up at Lorenzo with eyes full of long-simmering hatred. "Congratulations, Don Lorenzo. You figured it out. But you're too late."
Lorenzo leaned over the table, his face inches from Marco’s. "It's never too late to put down a dog, Marco."
"You think this room is your only problem?" Marco laughed maniacally. "I have forty men outside this mansion right now, Lorenzo! Led by my captains! At eight fifteen—which is in exactly two minutes—they are coming through those gates to wipe out everyone in this house! They think Romano betrayed you! They will kill you, kill Romano, and I will walk out of here as the sole survivor who avenged his Don!"
Sophia, standing by the server's cart near the back wall, gasped in horror.
Lorenzo didn't even flinch. He slowly checked his gold wristwatch.
"It is eight fourteen, Marco," Lorenzo said softly. "You always were terrible at checking the perimeter."
Suddenly, the muffled sound of heavy gunfire echoed from deep outside the estate—followed quickly by the sound of explosions and screeching tires. But it wasn't the sound of an invading force breaching the house.
It was the sound of Marco’s men being systematically ambushed in the driveway.
Marco’s smile vanished completely. "What... what did you do?"
"I called in a favor from the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Lorenzo said calmly. "And the State Police. I gave them the exact coordinates of your private militia, along with twenty years of your personal bank records detailing your illegal arms smuggling network."
Marco’s eyes went wide with pure terror. "You... you snitched? You broke Omertà?!"
"Omertà is a code among honorable men, Marco," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping to a icy whisper. "You are not a man. You are a parasite that fed on my family for nineteen years."
Lorenzo looked at Sophia. "Sophia! Take the key! Go to the safe room now!"
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Sophia didn't hesitate. She grabbed the silver key from her apron, darted out of the library, and sprinted down the hallway toward the master suite to protect her daughter.
At that exact moment, all hell broke loose inside the library.
