Chapter 2 - The Fire and the Blood
The memorial hall transformed from a place of solemn mourning into a war zone within seconds. The DeLuca lieutenants, trained for ambush, immediately returned fire, turning the grand mansion into a deafening echo chamber of gunshots, shattered glass, and screaming elites.
Lorenzo held three-year-old Emma against his chest, shielding her with his own body, while his other hand laid down suppression fire to keep the attackers at bay. Sophia was on her hands and knees, weeping hysterical prayers.
"Marco! Clear the east wing corridor!" Lorenzo commanded over the din of automatic gunfire.
Marco flanked two incoming assailants, taking them down with precise, clinical headshots. "Boss, these aren't rival family hitmen! Look at their gear—these are private military contractors! Highly trained!"
Lorenzo’s mind raced as he hauled Sophia up by her shoulder. "Who hired them, Sophia? Who paid you to keep my baby hidden?"
"It was... it was the boss's inner circle!" Sophia cried out, her voice barely audible over a grenade detonating near the grand fireplace. "A man with a dragon tattoo on his throat! He brought the infant to my cottage eight months ago! He said the car crash was orchestrated to fake the baby’s death!"
A dragon tattoo.
Lorenzo felt his stomach plunge into a freezing abyss. There was only one man in the entire DeLuca syndicate with a blue dragon tattooed on his throat: Victor Vance, his chief security advisor and the man who had overseen the physical search of the crash site eight months ago. Victor had been the one who handed Lorenzo the scorched blanket and the tiny empty coffin.
Lorenzo turned his head toward the back balcony overlooking the hall. Standing near the shadow of the velvet curtains, holding a radio, was Victor Vance himself.
When Victor’s eyes met Lorenzo’s, Victor didn't look surprised. He looked disappointed. He raised his hand, signaling his mercenary squad to advance, and turned to walk toward the back exits.
"Victor!" Lorenzo’s roar cut through the sound of gunfire.
"Boss, we have to fall back!" Marco yelled, grabbing Lorenzo’s arm as bullet impacts chipped white marble off the column inches from their heads. "There's too many of them, and we have the civilians! We need to get out through the subterranean tunnels!"
"Sophia, where is my daughter right now?" Lorenzo demanded, gripping her face. "Tell me!"
"She's at the safe house near the Old Brooklyn Docks! A small brick townhouse on Elm Street—number 412! A nanny is guarding her!" Sophia screamed. "Go! Save her!"
Lorenzo didn't hesitate. "Marco, take Sophia and Emma down to the basement vault. Lock it from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me."
"Lorenzo, you can't go alone!" Marco protested. "Victor set this up! It’s a trap!"
"He took my child," Lorenzo said, his voice terrifyingly calm, his eyes glowing with an unholy flame. "He made me mourn an empty grave for eight months. I will tear New York apart brick by brick until I hold her."
May you like
Without waiting for a reply, Lorenzo vaulted over the overturned mahogany buffet table, firing a precision volley that neutralized two mercenaries blocking the side exit. He burst through the double doors into the pouring rain outside, sprinting toward his armored Bentley parked in the courtyard.
Behind him, the DeLuca mansion burned, smoke billowing into the stormy New York sky. Ahead of him lay the truth—and a bloodbath.
