Chapter 5 - The Confrontation in the Office
The administrative office on the east wing of the Duca estate was paneled in dark Cuban mahogany, lined with shelves of leather-bound financial ledgers and secured by reinforced steel doors.
Uncle Silvio and Maroni were seated around the mahogany conference table, pouring glasses of scotch and reviewing shipping manifests, believing the crisis with the maid had been neatly swept under the rug.
BANG.
The heavy mahogany door didn't just open; it flew off its latch, slamming against the wood-paneled wall with a deafening crash that rattled the crystal decanters on the side table.
Silvio jumped, spilling scotch down the front of his silk tie. Maroni scrambled to his feet, reaching instinctively for the pistol holstered inside his jacket.
"Lorenzo! What the hell is wrong with you?" Silvio barked, his face flushing crimson with anger and adrenaline. "Kicking doors down like a street punk! We have guests arriving from Zurich in forty-eight hours—"
Lorenzo walked straight into the center of the room. He didn't sit down. He towered over the table, placing both hands flat on the polished wood and leaning forward until his face was inches from Maroni’s.
"You planted the clock," Lorenzo stated. It wasn't a question.
Maroni swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously, but he forced a tight, defensive smirk. "Now hold on just a minute, Lorenzo. That maid is a thief. We found the evidence in her locker. The security logs confirm—"
"The security logs can be edited by the head of administrative security," Lorenzo interrupted, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "Which happens to report directly to you, Maroni."
"This is absurd!" Silvio slammed his glass down, standing up to defend his consigliere. "You're throwing a tantrum over a kitchen servant! Who cares if the maid got framed? It happens every day in our line of work! We need Maroni to handle the Zurich syndicates! You can't let sentimentality interfere with multibillion-dollar operations!"
Lorenzo slowly raised his head, looking from his uncle to Maroni with eyes so dark and devoid of mercy that the air in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
"Sentimentality?" Lorenzo repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "You framed an innocent mother and terrified a three-year-old child just so Mrs. Higgins could steal a room in the servants' wing."
Maroni’s smirk vanished entirely. He realized then that this wasn't about the clock. This was about control.
"Listen to me, Lorenzo," Maroni snarled, dropping his professional facade as fear gave way to arrogance. "I’ve been with the Duca family since your father’s time. I know where the bodies are buried—literally and figuratively. You can't just turn on your inner circle over a brat who doesn't even belong in this house!"
Before Maroni could finish his sentence, Lorenzo moved with the terrifying speed of a striking viper.
In a fraction of a second, Lorenzo vaulted across the mahogany table, grabbed Maroni by the silk lapels of his suit, and slammed him backward through the glass-fronted bookshelf behind him. Books crashed to the floor, glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards, and Maroni let out a choked gasp as Lorenzo’s forearm pinned his windpipe against the shattered wooden frame.
Silvio screamed, stumbling backward over his chair. "Lorenzo! Stop! You're losing your mind!"
Lorenzo pressed his forearm harder against Maroni’s throat, watching the man's face turn a bruised, purplish red.
"You have twenty-four hours to clear Ranata’s name in writing, fire Mrs. Higgins, and pack your bags," Lorenzo whispered directly into Maroni’s ear. "If you are still in this zip code when the sun rises tomorrow, I won't just fire you. I'll feed you to Pino."
Lorenzo released his grip abruptly. Maroni collapsed onto the broken glass and scattered books, coughing violently, clutching his throat as he gasped for air.
May you like
Lorenzo stepped back, straightening his cuffs with absolute composure, and turned toward the door.
"And Silvio?" Lorenzo paused at the threshold, not bothering to look back. "Next time you invite Sicilians into my house without running the ledger by me first... don't bother showing up."
