Chapter 13 - The Threat in the Vineyard
The next morning, the heat of the Sicilian sun rose early, baking the stone terraces of the villa. Lena decided to walk through the ancient vineyard that stretched along the lower cliffs of the estate. She carried her silver-tipped cane, her leg feeling stronger with each passing day in the warm Mediterranean climate.
Two Duca security guards walked fifty paces behind her, their eyes scanning the surrounding hillsides.
Lena stopped beside an ancient olive tree, its trunk twisted and gnarled by centuries of wind. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the earth. For a brief moment, she could forget the guns, the blood, and the constant threat of death that seemed to follow her husband like a second shadow.
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the thick vines to her left.
The two security guards instantly drew their weapons, moving to shield Lena. "Chi c'è?" (Who is there?) one of them shouted.
A young boy, no older than twelve, stepped out from the vines. He was wearing dusty shorts and a torn t-shirt, his face smudged with dirt. In his hand, he held a small, woven basket filled with fresh figs. He looked terrified, his eyes darting from the guards’ weapons to Lena.
"Wait," Lena said to the guards in her broken Italian. "Mettete giù le armi." (Put down your weapons.)
She walked slowly toward the boy, using her cane for balance. She offered him a gentle, reassuring smile. "Hello," she said in English, then tried in Italian, "Ciao. Come ti chiami?" (What is your name?)
The boy swallowed hard, taking a step back. "Pietro," he whispered. He looked at her cane, then up at her face. "Are you... the American lady? The one who took the bullets?"
Lena was surprised. "Yes, I am Lena. How do you know about me, Pietro?"
The boy didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his basket of figs and pulled out a small, heavy object wrapped in a blood-stained piece of white silk. He stepped forward, placed it on the stone wall beside her, and then turned and fled into the olive groves, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.
The guards rushed forward, but Lena held up her hand. She walked over to the stone wall and looked at the object.
With trembling fingers, she unwrapped the white silk.
Inside was a silver comb—the exact duplicate of the silver comb Marco had placed in her hair on their wedding day. But this comb was bent, its silver teeth broken, and it was coated in a layer of dried, dark blood.
A small note was tucked inside the silk, written in a crude, jagged script:
"The blood of Chicago does not wash away in the sea of Palermo. Your bride will bleed on Sicilian soil, Duca. The countdown has begun."
Lena’s breath caught in her throat. Her leg suddenly felt weak, and she leaned heavily on her cane.
"Signora!" the lead guard cried, catching her arm as she stumbled. He looked at the comb and the note, his face turning pale. He immediately spoke into his radio. "Alpha One, we have a security breach in the lower vineyard. The Signora has been targeted. Lock down the perimeter!"
Within minutes, the roar of an engine echoed through the valley. Marco’s black Alfa Romeo tore down the gravel path, kicking up a cloud of white dust.
Marco practically threw himself out of the driver's seat before the car had even come to a complete stop. He sprinted toward Lena, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. He grabbed her by the shoulders, scanning her body for injuries.
"Lena! Are you hurt? Did they touch you?" he roared, his voice shaking with a rage that shook her to her core.
"I'm fine, Marco. I'm fine," she insisted, wrapping her arms around his waist to calm him. "It was just a boy. He brought a message."
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Marco looked at the blood-stained silver comb on the stone wall. He picked it up, his hand shaking with an intensity that terrified the guards standing nearby. He stared at the note, his eyes turning into two black pools of absolute, lethal intent.
"Enzo!" Marco bellowed into his earpiece. "I want every Caprese asset in the city burned to the ground by nightfall. No warnings. No negotiations. We are going to war."
