Chapter 4 - The Vance Estate
The sun had barely begun to break over the horizon when my motorcade of three black armored SUVs rolled through the wrought-iron gates of Marcus Vance’s sprawling estate in Greenwich, Connecticut.
We didn't wait for permission to enter. Viktor’s vehicle simply rammed through the automated security arm, shattering the glass guard booth before screeching to a halt on the pristine gravel driveway.
Within seconds, six of my elite security operatives poured out of the vehicles, securing the perimeter and neutralizing Vance’s private guards before they even had time to unholster their sidearms.
I stepped out of the lead vehicle, wearing a dark wool overcoat, my Doberman trotting silently at my heel. The crisp morning air carried the faint scent of pine and impending violence.
The heavy oak front door of the mansion swung open, and Marcus Vance stepped out onto the portico. He was dressed in a silk bathrobe, holding a crystal glass of scotch, his silver hair neatly combed. But despite his aristocratic composure, the violent twitch in his left eye betrayed the sheer terror gripping his chest.
“Lorenzo,” Marcus forced a thin, oily smile, trying to project an air of offended dignity. “What is the meaning of this armed assault on my property? Have you lost your mind? I’m a major shareholder in Duca Enterprises—I’ll have your badge... I’ll have you ruined!”
I walked up the stone steps slowly, my boots clicking rhythmically against the marble. I didn't say a word until I was standing inches away from him, towering over him in the cold morning light.
“You’re out of your depth, Marcus,” I said quietly.
“You’re trespassing—” he started, raising a finger.
I grabbed his wrist with iron strength, twisting it just enough to make him drop the crystal glass, shattering it against the stone floor. Vance let out a sharp gasp of pain, his face turning pale.
“Renata sang, Marcus,” I whispered, leaning in close so only he could hear. “She told me about the burner phone. She told me about the orders to eliminate the last witness from the Duca massacre. And most importantly... she told me who financed the hit on my father fifteen years ago.”
Vance swallowed hard, his throat dry. He tried to pull his hand away, but my grip was like a hydraulic press. “She... she’s lying. A disgruntled servant trying to save her own skin—you can’t trust the word of a common thief!”
“She wasn't a thief. She was a witness,” I corrected coldly. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the manila folder Viktor had compiled, and tossed it against Vance’s chest. The folder slid off his robe and scattered across the porch floor, revealing bank wire transfers, property deeds signed in blood, and corporate restructuring documents dating back to the exact week my family was murdered.
“You wanted the Duca shipping lanes, Marcus,” I said, my voice dropping to a terrifying register. “You wanted absolute control over the eastern seaboard supply chain. So you hired a squad of mercenaries to wipe out my father, my uncles, and everyone standing between you and the board seats. You thought you left no survivors.”
Vance’s knees buckled slightly. The arrogant mask slipped away completely, revealing the desperate, cornered rat beneath.
“Lorenzo... listen to me,” Vance stammered, his hands shaking as he grabbed my coat lapels in a pathetic plea for mercy. “It was business! Just business! If your father had stayed in power, the syndicate would have collapsed! I saved the empire—”
“You destroyed it,” I interrupted, my voice ringing with absolute finality.
Before Vance could speak another word, I drove my fist into his stomach, doubling him over with a breathless groan, before slamming him hard against the oak pillar of his own portico.
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Viktor stepped forward, snapping a pair of heavy tactical zip-ties around Vance’s wrists.
“Get him in the back of the SUV,” I ordered, wiping a speck of dust from my overcoat. “We’re taking him home. Because tonight, the Duca family is going to hold a trial—and Marcus Vance is going to confess to every single crime on national syndicate record.”
