Chapter 4 - Wolves in the Inner Circle
Downstairs, the estate was quiet, but my mind was operating at hyper-speed.
I walked out of the study and descended the grand staircase into the dimly lit foyer. Two of my most trusted guards, Tony and Rocco, stood by the front doors. They snapped to attention as I approached.
"Boss," Tony said, dipping his head. "Everything okay with the kid?"
"He's sleeping," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "Where is Marcus?"
Tony exchanged a brief, confused glance with Rocco. "Mr. Vance is in the East Wing conference room. He’s reviewing the shipping manifests for the port arrival tomorrow morning. Said he wanted to make sure everything was clean before the weekend."
Reviewing manifests. Of course he was. He was calculating his next move, bleeding my empire dry while pretending to mourn my dying son.
"Don't let him leave the estate," I instructed quietly. "No matter who calls, no matter what excuse he gives. If he touches the door handle, put a bullet in his knee."
Tony’s eyes widened slightly, recognizing the shift in my tone. This wasn't business; this was execution. "Consider it done, Boss."
I walked down the long corridor toward the East Wing, my leather shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. As I approached the heavy double doors of the conference room, I could see a faint strip of yellow light leaking out from underneath.
I pushed the door open without knocking.
Marcus Vance looked up from the mahogany table, a stack of financial folders spread out before him. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, his silver-streaked hair brushed back with professional precision. A glass of amber scotch sat near his right hand.
"Luca," Marcus said, flashing the warm, reassuring smile that had fooled me for a decade and a half. "I was just going over the port numbers. It looks like the dock union is trying to squeeze us for another percentage point, but I’ve got leverage on their foreman. We can handle it."
He paused, studying my face. The warm smile slowly faltered as he noticed the dead, unblinking intensity in my eyes.
"Luca? Is everything alright? How is Matteo?"
I walked slowly into the room, my hands resting casually at my sides, just inches from the hidden holster beneath my jacket.
"Matteo is sleeping, Marcus," I said softly, closing the heavy oak door behind me with a solid, echoing thud. "In fact, for the first time in weeks, he's resting peacefully."
Marcus let out an audible sigh of relief, leaning back in his leather chair. "Thank God. I was worried sick. That boy is like a grandson to me. If anything happened to him..."
"If anything happened to him," I interrupted, my voice dropping an octave, "you would be the first person I'd hold accountable."
Marcus’s expression flickered—just for a microsecond—with a shadow of unease. He recovered quickly, adjusting his cuffs. "Naturally, Luca. We all want what's best for the family."
"Family," I repeated, walking around the table until I was standing just three feet away from him. "That's a very interesting word, Marcus. Let's talk about family. Let's talk about loyalty. Let's talk about fifteen years of standing shoulder to shoulder."
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Marcus frowned, his professional mask slipping slightly. "Where is this coming from, Luca? Are you alright? You look... you look like a man who just saw a ghost."
"I did," I whispered, pulling Sofia’s folded letter from my pocket and tossing it onto the table directly in front of him. "Her name is Sofia. And she left me a message from the grave."
