Chapter 4 - THE MAN BEHIND THE DOOR
Marco knocked the medical bag from Ricci’s hand.
It hit the floor.
Vials rolled beneath the wine racks.
A syringe skidded to Sophia’s shoe.
Emma buried her face in her mother’s neck.
“Enough,” Lorenzo said.
His voice was quiet.
Nobody ignored it.
Ricci stood with both hands visible.
“I was reaching for medication.”
Marco kicked the bag away.
“Bad timing.”
Vincent struck the pantry door from the other side.
“Marco!”
Marco looked at Lorenzo.
“Do I open it?”
Lorenzo studied Ricci.
Then nodded.
“Halfway.”
Marco unlocked the door and opened it six inches.
Vincent stood alone.
No weapon visible.
His tie was gone.
The white shirt beneath his suit jacket had been torn at the shoulder.
“You look terrible,” Marco said.
Vincent stared through the opening.
“So does he.”
Lorenzo leaned against the bench.
“Explain.”
Vincent looked at Ricci.
“Not while he can reach a syringe.”
Marco shoved Ricci against the wall and searched him.
Nothing.
Vincent entered.
Sophia instinctively stepped backward.
He noticed.
“You think it was me.”
“I saw you in his chair.”
Vincent actually laughed.
It sounded exhausted.
“I was checking the desk alarm.”
“You were smiling.”
“I found Lorenzo’s emergency transmitter underneath the drawer.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“I removed that months ago.”
“No. Someone wanted you to think you did.”
Vincent took a tiny black device from his pocket.
“Fake casing. Real transmitter underneath.”
Marco examined it.
“Who installed it?”
“That’s what I was smiling about. Whoever did this was careless.”
He looked at Ricci.
“Medical adhesive.”
Ricci shook his head.
“That proves nothing.”
Vincent continued.
“Then I found this.”
He produced a glass vial wrapped in a handkerchief.
Dr. Ricci stopped breathing.
Lorenzo stared at the label.
“Digitalis?”
Vincent nodded.
“Your father’s official cause of death was heart failure.”
“He was eighty-two.”
“He was also stable.”
Ricci finally spoke.
“You’re building a fantasy.”
Vincent moved toward him.
“You signed the death certificate.”
“Yes. Because he died.”
“You controlled his medication.”
“I was his physician.”
“And six weeks after he died, three port companies were transferred into a trust controlled by your brother-in-law.”
Sophia looked at Lorenzo.
He seemed stunned.
Not frightened.
Worse.
Betrayed.
“How long have you known?”
Vincent answered quietly.
“Four hours.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried. Your phone sent me a message ordering me to stand down.”
Marco swore under his breath.
Vincent looked toward the cellar ceiling.
“Someone is using Lorenzo’s encrypted account to give instructions upstairs.”
“How many men believe those instructions?” Marco asked.
“Almost all of them.”
“Then we have a problem.”
“We have a house full of armed loyalists obeying a dead man’s phone.”
“I’m not dead,” Lorenzo muttered.
Vincent looked at him.
“Tell your phone.”
Despite everything, Sophia felt a hysterical laugh rise in her throat.
She swallowed it.
Emma lifted her head.
“Can we go kitchen?”
Sophia kissed her hair.
“Soon.”
Lorenzo heard.
His expression hardened.
“No.”
Everyone looked at him.
“We’re not turning my home into a battlefield with a child inside.”
He pointed toward Marco.
“Take Sophia and Emma through the storm passage.”
Sophia shook her head.
“I’m not leaving you with—”
“Sophia.”
“No.”
The room went silent.
She surprised herself.
Perhaps everyone else too.
“You were left tied to a chair because people assumed servants don’t notice anything. I notice things.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
“Such as?”
She looked at Ricci.
“His coat.”
Ricci’s jaw tightened.
“The button?”
“Not only the button.”
She stepped closer.
“You always wear gloves when you make house calls in winter.”
“So?”
“You aren’t wearing them.”
“I lost them.”
“Where?”
Ricci said nothing.
Sophia turned to Marco.
“The cloth ties around Mr. Duca’s ankles were black leather.”
Marco looked back at the severed restraints.
One section was still wrapped around the chair leg.
Not leather.
A glove.
Cut into strips.
Expensive black leather.
Sophia’s pulse accelerated.
“Emma’s scissors had black fibers stuck inside the hinge.”
Everyone looked toward the broken pink scissors inside Sophia’s apron.
She pulled them out.
A narrow strip of black leather remained jammed beside the broken blade.
Ricci’s face went empty.
Sophia whispered, “They weren’t only trying to cut the plastic tie.”
Emma had accidentally cut into the glove used as a secondary restraint.
A glove that matched Ricci’s missing pair.
Vincent stared at him.
“Still a coincidence?”
Ricci exhaled slowly.
Then smiled.
It was nothing like the gentle expression he had worn while treating Emma’s fever.
“You always were observant, Sophia.”
Her blood ran cold.
Lorenzo whispered, “Enzo.”
Ricci looked at him.
“I asked you to stop digging.”
“You tied me beneath my own house.”
“I tried to keep you alive.”
Vincent laughed once.
“You expect us to believe that?”
“You don’t understand what is happening.”
“Then explain it.”
Ricci looked toward the ceiling.
“The Duca organization is collapsing.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“It is changing. Which is worse.”
Ricci’s voice became almost passionate.
“Your father understood fear. Tribute. Obedience. You started closing routes, refusing narcotics money, moving assets into legitimate companies.”
“That was the point.”
“You call it reform. The old families call it betrayal.”
“And you?”
Ricci looked genuinely sad.
“I call it suicide.”
Sophia finally understood.
“You were helping them replace him.”
Ricci said nothing.
Lorenzo leaned back.
“Who?”
“That part doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me.”
Ricci smiled faintly.
“You still think this is your house.”
A heavy sound came from upstairs.
Then another.
Doors opening.
Boots moving.
Vincent checked his phone.
His face changed.
“What?”
Marco asked.
Vincent looked at Lorenzo.
“The west gate just opened.”
“For whom?”
“Twenty-three men.”
May you like
Ricci’s smile widened.
“The new owner.”
