Chapter 4 - The Confrontation
For a fraction of a second, Robert Langley’s eyes flickered with doubt.
He was a man of the old world. He understood loyalty, bullets, and dynamite. But he did not understand the digital web that Leo and Clara had spent their lives navigating. He did not know if the little girl’s words were a bluff or a death sentence.
"Leo!" Alessandro roared. "Is she right?"
Leo raised his tear-stained face from his hands. He looked at his daughter, then at the terminal printout in Alessandro’s hand, and finally at Robert.
"Yes," Leo whispered, a sudden, desperate hope igniting in his eyes. "The detonator is connected to the house’s internal network to prevent signal jamming. It routes through the Queens shore channel relay—the exact relay Clara found. If we kill the node, the signal can't reach the receivers in the basement."
"You lie!" Robert snarled, his thumb pressing down on the red button.
Nothing happened.
No explosion. No roar of fire. Only the quiet, steady crackle of the hearth and the sound of the rain beating against the glass.
Robert stared at the detonator in his hand, his face twisting into a mask of pure panic. He pressed it again. And again.
"The light with no hallway," Alessandro said, stepping toward the old adviser, his face entirely dark. "We turned it off before we came up, Robert. Clara deleted the routing table."
Robert reached for the small, silver pistol tucked into his waistband, but he was too slow.
Luca’s gun barked once.
The bullet caught Robert in the shoulder, spinning him around and throwing him against the heavy mahogany desk. The detonator clattered to the floor, rolling away into the shadows.
"Don't kill him," Alessandro ordered, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "He’s going to tell us exactly where they are keeping Leo’s wife."
Luca stepped forward, his boot pinning Robert’s uninjured shoulder to the floor. "And the Brooklyn warehouse, Boss? It’s 4:45. We have fifteen minutes before the Lombardi hit teams arrive."
Alessandro looked at Leo, who was still on his knees, his shoulders shaking. He walked over to his adoptive brother, offering his hand.
Leo looked at the hand, then up at Alessandro’s face.
"Get up, brother," Alessandro said softly. "We have a family to put back together."
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Leo took Alessandro’s hand, his grip tight and desperate. "Alessandro... I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry."
"Save your apologies," Alessandro said, his eyes turning to the French doors that led out into the dark, rainy night. "We’re going to Brooklyn. And we’re going to show the Lombardis what happens when they touch a Duca."
