Chapter 11 - The Truth Unveiled
Through the smoke and splintered wood of the lounge entrance stepped Lorenzo Vance. He was drenched in rainwater, his charcoal trench coat stained with soot and blood, his amber eyes glowing like twin coals of hellfire beneath the harsh overhead chandeliers. In his right hand, he held his customized Colt .45; in his left, his heavy tactical shotgun.
Behind him, Dante Russo and ten Vance enforcers fanned out across the room, their weapons raised, instantly neutralizing Salvatore Romano’s five personal bodyguards before they could even draw their sidearms from their holsters.
Salvatore scrambled backward, overturning his leather chair, his face turning the color of wet ash. “Victor! You said the compound was secure! You said he was dead!”
Victor Thorne did not scream. He did not reach for a weapon. He simply sat frozen in his chair, his glass of scotch hovering an inch above the table, his eyes locked onto the towering, blood-soaked figure of theDon he had betrayed. For the first time in twenty years, Victor Thorne’s immaculate composure cracked, his jaw dropping slightly as he realized his masterpiece had just turned into his tomb.
Lorenzo walked across the plush carpet, ignoring Salvatore entirely. His gaze was fixed solely on the sixty-year-old estate manager who had poured his drinks, managed his finances, and patted his shoulder at his brother’s funeral.
“Aconite,” Lorenzo said, his voice disturbingly calm, cutting through the storm raging outside the windows. “You poisoned Uncle Dominic with aconite in his tea. And you sold Matteo’s route to the Romanos for an offshore account in Zurich.”
Victor slowly set his glass down. He took a deep breath, smoothing the lapels of his tailored suit coat with trembling fingers. “How did you get past the perimeter guards? The dock was secured by twenty Romano soldiers.”
“They’re floating in the marina, Victor,” Lorenzo replied, reaching into his pocket and tossing a heavy, blood-stained tactical radio onto the mahogany table. It clattered against Victor’s scotch glass. “Your extraction team talked before they died. They told me everything about your little regent scheme.”
“You can’t kill me, Lorenzo,” Victor said, attempting to resurrect his haughty, superior tone, though his voice vibrated with raw terror. “I hold the master encryption keys to all forty-two offshore holding companies controlled by the Vance syndicate! If I die, those accounts freeze permanently! You will lose six hundred million dollars in liquid capital by tomorrow morning!”
Lorenzo reached into his breast pocket and pulled out Uncle Dominic’s brass Zippo lighter. He flipped the top open with a sharp, metallic click that echoed in the silent room.
“I don't give a damn about the money, Victor,” Lorenzo whispered, stepping within inches of the old man's face. “I have a nephew sleeping in my bed. I have a brother whose blood is screaming from the pavement in Milwaukee. You think money buys your way out of a blood debt with a Vance?”
Lorenzo turned his head slightly toward Dante, who was holding his assault rifle trained directly on Salvatore Romano’s forehead.
“Dante,” Lorenzo ordered coldly. “Take Salvatore and his guards to the meat-packing plant on the South Side. Let the Greek syndicate know that if they want their gambling debts forgiven, they can spend the next three days practicing their carving skills on the Romano family heir.”
“No! Please! Don Vance!” Salvatore shrieked as two of Dante’s enforcers dragged him kicking and screaming out of the shattered doorways of the lounge.
May you like
Once the room was cleared of everyone except Lorenzo, Dante, and the traitor sitting at the table, Lorenzo dragged a heavy wooden chair over and sat down directly across from Victor Thorne.
“Now,” Lorenzo said, igniting the flame of the brass Zippo lighter and watching it dance in the darkness between them. “Let’s talk about how long it takes a man to die from aconite poisoning, Victor.”
