Chapter 7 - THE FALL OF SILVIO
An hour before sunrise, the torrential rain began to slow over the rolling hills of Verona.
Inside the heavily fortified Moretti villa, Don Silvio sat in his leather armchair, drinking vintage brandy, nervously checking his watch every thirty seconds.
Bianca stood near the fireplace, wrapping a silk robe around herself, her face pale with anxiety.
“Why hasn't the commander called yet?” Bianca demanded, her voice high and nervous. “They breached the perimeter over an hour ago! Lorenzo should be dead by now!”
“Patience, Bianca,” Silvio said, though his own hands were shaking as he poured another glass of brandy. “Lorenzo’s guards are well-trained, but thirty professional mercenaries are more than enough to burn that estate to the ground.”
Suddenly, the heavy iron front doors of the villa were blown off their hinges with a deafening EXPLOSION.
The blast shook the entire villa, shattering every crystal glass on the sideboard.
Before the smoke could clear, four black tactical smoke grenades rolled into the living room, filling the space with blinding, tear-inducing gray gas.
Silvio’s personal guards screamed in panic, firing blind into the smoke.
Through the fog walked Lorenzo Duca.
He moved with the unstoppable force of a natural disaster. His men flooded the room behind him, disarming and neutralizing Silvio’s guards within forty seconds.
Silvio dropped his brandy glass, collapsing backward into his leather armchair in sheer, unadulterated horror.
Bianca shrieked, scrambling behind her father’s chair, her eyes wide with terror as she saw Lorenzo emerge from the smoke, entirely unharmed, holding a heavy silver pistol in his right hand.
“L-Lorenzo...!” Silvio gasped, his face turning a sickly, pale chalk. “How... how are you alive?!”
Lorenzo walked slowly to the front of the mahogany desk, stopping three feet from Silvio’s chair. He didn't raise his gun. He didn't yell. His presence alone was enough to make the room feel like a tomb.
“Your thirty mercenaries failed, Silvio,” Lorenzo said softly, his voice echoing through the quiet, smoke-filled room. “They are currently being processed by my lieutenants.”
Silvio began to weep openly, clutching his chest, his arrogant posture completely destroyed. “Please... Lorenzo! We are old family! We have shared borders for twenty years! I will give you my southern shipping ports! I will give you my holdings in Milan! Just spare my life!”
Lorenzo looked down at the old man with absolute disdain.
“You didn't just target my ports, Silvio,” Lorenzo said calmly. “You sent armed men into a house where a three-year-old child was sleeping. You broke the fundamental law of our world.”
Lorenzo turned his head to Marco, who stood at the doorway holding a thick stack of legal and financial documents.
“Strip the Moretti family of every asset, every account, and every property they own across the continent,” Lorenzo ordered. “Effective sunrise, Don Silvio and Bianca are banished from Italy forever. If either of them sets foot across the border, my men have orders to end them on sight.”
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Bianca fell to her knees weeping hysterically, while Silvio slumped in his chair, completely broken, realizing his empire, his wealth, and his status had been wiped from existence in a single morning.
Lorenzo turned his back on them, walking out into the crisp, cold morning air where his convoy waited to take him home.
