Chapter 9 - The Reckoning of the Duca Name
At 10:00 AM, six heavy black SUVs pulled up the long winding stone driveway of Villa Duca, their tires crushing the fallen golden leaves.
The vehicles stopped in a wide semicircle in front of the grand marble steps.
The doors opened, and twenty armed men in dark coats stepped out into the crisp morning air, led by Silvio Moretti himself. Silvio wore a heavy mink-collared coat, his silver hair slicked back, his face rigid with fury.
Beside him stood four high-ranked syndicate bosses from the city’s outer boroughs—men who had come to witness the public humiliation and surrender of Lorenzo Duca.
The massive iron double doors of Villa Duca swung open silently.
Lorenzo stepped out onto the top step of the porch.
He was alone. He wore no coat against the morning chill. He stood with his hands casually tucked into his trousers pockets, looking down at twenty armed men as if they were nothing more than door-to-door salesmen.
Pino walked out behind him, sitting down at Lorenzo’s left heel like a monument of black iron.
“Lorenzo!” Silvio’s voice echoed across the quiet courtyard. “You broke our contract! You assaulted my son! You detained my legal staff! By the laws of the Commission, your territory is forfeit!”
The twenty men stepped forward, their hands moving inside their coats toward hidden holsters.
Lorenzo didn't move an inch. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even take his hands out of his pockets.
Instead, he lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers twice.
From behind the stone balustrades of the roof—fifty feet above the driveway—thirty heavily armed Duca security guards appeared simultaneously, their tactical rifles aimed directly down at the heads of Silvio’s men.
At the same time, four heavy armored transport trucks rolled out from the side garages, blocking the entrance gate completely and trapping Silvio’s convoy in the driveway.
Silvio froze. The outer borough bosses gasped, stepping back toward their vehicles in sudden panic.
“Did you really think I’d let you walk into my home a second time, Silvio?” Lorenzo asked, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet morning air.
Lorenzo walked down the marble steps, stopping ten feet from the terrified mafia boss.
“Yesterday, your son tried to steal from me,” Lorenzo said softly. “Last night, your lawyer tried to betray me. And today, you brought twenty dead men into my garden.”
Lorenzo pulled a small leather folder from his inner pocket and tossed it at Silvio’s feet.
“Inside that folder is a complete copy of every illegal transaction Moretti Enterprises has executed in this state for twenty years,” Lorenzo revealed calmly. “The original files were delivered to the United States Attorney’s Office in Manhattan twenty minutes ago.”
Silvio’s face went completely ash-gray. “You... you went to the feds?”
“I didn't go to the feds to save myself, Silvio,” Lorenzo whispered, leaning in close so only the older man could hear him. “I went to the feds to make sure that by sunset, every single member of your family is in a federal holding cell for the rest of their natural lives.”
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He tapped Silvio on the chest with two fingers.
“Get off my land,” Lorenzo said softly. “Before I decide that federal prison is too good for you.”
