Chapter 16 - The Ultimate GambleLorenzo’s jaw dropped. He looked at the live video feed on the table, which still showed the assassins outside the empty bunker, then back to the baby in my arms.
“How?” Lorenzo breathed, his hands gripping his silver cane until his knuckles turned white.
“You thought you tracked us to Brooklyn, Lorenzo,” I said, walking confidently into the boardroom, my heels clicking sharply against the marble. “But my people—the truck drivers, the delivery maids, the sanitation workers—they saw your scouts tracking us days ago. We left that bunker empty twelve hours ago. The video you’re watching is a pre-recorded loop running from an external server.”
Roman stepped up beside me, his presence suffocating the room’s air. “Your assassins are currently walking into a trap manned by fifty federal agents who were tipped off about an anonymous terrorist cell operating in Brooklyn. By morning, your entire European asset network will be seized by Interpol.”
Lorenzo stood up, his face twisted in a mask of pure demonic rage. “You think a few cops can stop me? I will kill you myself!”
He reached into his jacket, but before his hand could clear the fabric, Lord Harrison pulled a small, gold-plated derringer from his sleeve and placed it directly against the back of Lorenzo’s head.
“Sit down, Lorenzo,” Harrison said, his voice steady and cold. “The vote is canceled. The council remains loyal to the true heir.”
The other elders quickly lowered their hands, their faces pale with terror as they realized they had chosen the losing side once again.
Lorenzo slowly lowered his hands, looking at Roman, then at me, and finally at the tiny sleeping face of Clara Victoria. He realized he hadn't just lost a mafia war; he had been completely outmaneuvered by a girl from Queens and a network of common workers he had spent his entire life looking down upon.
“You think you’ve won?” Lorenzo hissed, a dangerous, unhinged smile spreading across his lips. “You think this ends with a corporate vote? Look down, waitress.”
A rhythmic, heavy red blinking light caught my eye from beneath the massive mahogany table.
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Lorenzo had wired the entire penthouse with military-grade C4 explosives. He had never intended to rule the empire from this room. He had come to commit a mass execution.
“If I can’t have the throne,” Lorenzo laughed, his thumb hovering over a small detonator concealed inside the head of his silver cane, “no one will.”
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