Chapter 6 - The Late-Night Legal House Call
At 3:45 AM, a sleek, silver Bentley pulled up the long, rain-slicked driveway of the Duca estate.
Arthur Sterling stepped out of the rear seat, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat over an immaculate charcoal suit. At sixty-five, Arthur was the picture of distinguished, high-society authority. His silver hair was neatly parted, his gold-rimmed glasses gleamed under the entrance spotlights, and he carried a leather legal folder beneath his arm.
He walked up the marble steps, accompanied by two private security guards, expecting to find police cruisers, fire trucks, and a chaotic crime scene.
Instead, he found the grand iron front doors standing wide open.
The grand hall was dimly lit by a single chandelier overhead. The blood had been scrubbed from the marble floor, but the faint, sharp smell of burnt gunpowder still hung in the air like perfume.
"Lorenzo?" Arthur called out, his voice echoing through the vast space as he stepped inside. "Lorenzo, my boy! Marco called me—he said there was an emergency with a domestic employee?"
No answer echoed back.
Arthur’s security guards instinctively reached beneath their coats for their weapons, sensing the eerie, unnatural silence of the mansion.
CLICK.
The massive front doors slammed shut behind them, locked from the outside by heavy mechanical bolts.
Arthur spun around, his face turning pale. "What is the meaning of this?!"
From the shadows of the upper balcony, twelve armed men in dark suits appeared, their automatic rifles pointed directly down at Arthur and his guards.
"Drop your weapons, gentlemen," Marco’s voice boomed from the gallery. "Or you die where you stand."
Arthur’s two guards looked at the dozen rifles aimed at their heads, slowly raised their hands, and dropped their sidearms onto the marble floor. My men stepped out from the shadows, zip-tying the guards and dragging them away into the darkness.
Arthur stood alone in the center of the grand hall, his silver hair disheveled, his hands trembling as he clutched his legal folder.
Then, from the darkness of the main corridor, I walked out.
Beside me walked Kaiser, his black coat gleaming, his amber eyes locked onto the lawyer. And walking right behind me, holding my left hand, was Elena Vance—wearing her father's black-and-gold pendant openly around her neck.
Arthur Sterling looked at Elena. His gold-rimmed glasses slipped down his nose as his jaw dropped open in utter, paralyzed horror.
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"You..." Arthur stammered, his voice losing all its distinguished polish, cracking into a pathetic squeak. "You... you died in Palermo..."
"No, Arthur," Elena said, her voice clear, strong, and echoing through the grand hall like a bell of judgment. "My father died in Palermo. I survived to make sure you answered for his murder."
