Chapter 5 - Shadows of the Past
Lorenzo didn't waste a second. He gripped Elena’s arm, his voice a razor-sharp command: "Stay on this bed. Lock the master doors from the inside. Marco!"
The heavy double doors of the penthouse opened immediately. Marco entered, two elite guards flanking him with submachine guns.
"Boss," Marco said, breathing hard. "The cellar guard had his throat slashed from behind. It was an inside job—one of the kitchen staff was on Donatello’s payroll. They cut the primary power to the lower levels."
Lorenzo’s eyes flashed with pure murder. "Where is Rossi?"
"Rossi is still in the lab. He locked the blast doors before the power cut. But Donatello’s men are using an oxyacetylene torch on the hinges. They want that test result destroyed before the council sees it."
"They won't get it," Lorenzo said. He turned to Elena, his eyes locking onto hers with absolute, terrifying conviction. "Lock this room behind me. If anyone tries that handle who isn't me or Marco, you take the pistol inside the nightstand and you empty the clip through the wood. Do you hear me?"
Elena swallowed the lump of ice in her throat and nodded. "Be careful, Lorenzo."
Lorenzo didn't reply. He pulled a black customized Glock from the holster beneath his arm, checked the chamber with a crisp metallic snap, and vanished out the door with Marco and his men.
Downstairs, the estate was bathed in eerie emergency red lighting. The hum of backup generators vibrated through the floorboards. Lorenzo moved like a panther through the back stairwell, his steps completely soundless despite his heavy frame.
Three levels down, the smell of burning metal and sulfur hung thick in the corridor.
Two men in black tactical gear stood outside the medical lab, sparks showering around them as an industrial torch ate through the heavy steel doorframe. A third man stood watch at the intersection of the hallway, assault rifle raised.
Lorenzo didn't issue a warning.
Pfft. Pfft.
The suppressed shots were so quiet they sounded like heavy thuds against leather. The sentry dropped instantly, a pair of red holes punched directly through his chest.
Before the other two could even drop the torch, Lorenzo closed the distance. He grabbed the torch operator by the back of his tactical vest, slamming his skull into the concrete wall with bone-shattering force. The second mercenary lunged for his sidearm, but Marco rounded the corner, firing two clean shots that sent the man sprawling backward into a heap of severed cables.
The hallway went dead silent, save for the hiss of the dying torch on the floor.
Lorenzo stepped over the bodies and pounded on the steel door. "Rossi! Open the latch. It’s Lorenzo."
Three mechanical locks clicked back. The heavy door groaned open, revealing Dr. Rossi standing inside, his white lab coat splattered with sweat, his hands clutching a sealed manila envelope like it was the holy grail.
"Don Lorenzo," the doctor gasped, his chest heaving. "They... they tried to shoot the lock out. I didn't open."
Lorenzo extended his hand. "The sequencer."
Rossi handed over the envelope with trembling fingers. "The machine completed the full twenty-four locus match thirty seconds before they cut the main grid. I printed the certified analysis on Syndicate seal."
Lorenzo tore the envelope open with one brutal swipe.
He pulled out the document. His stormy eyes scanned past the medical jargon, past the genetic sequencing graphs, down to the final bolded lines at the bottom of the page:
PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 99.998%
CONCLUSION: THE ALLEGED FATHER CANNOT BE EXCLUDED AS THE BIOLOGICAL FATHER OF MIA VOSS.
Lorenzo’s hand tightened on the paper, crumpling the edge. A strange, suffocating pressure seized his chest—not of anger, but of a profound, earth-shattering finality.
My daughter.
She wasn't a phantom. She wasn't an illusion. She was his flesh, his blood, his legacy. The innocent child who had wandered into a room full of loaded guns and called him "Daddy" was the rightful heir to the entire Moretti empire.
"Where did Donatello go?" Lorenzo asked, his voice dead, flat, and chillingly calm.
Marco pulled up a GPS tablet. "A black SUV blew through the south gate sixty seconds ago. Heading east toward the industrial docks in Newark. Boss... he knows he’s finished. If he reaches the Santoro compound, he’ll try to broker a total war against us."
Lorenzo folded the DNA certificate and slid it into his inside breast pocket, directly over his heart.
May you like
"He won't make it to the docks," Lorenzo said.
He turned toward the elevator. "Call the full council. Every underboss, every captain, every capo from Philadelphia to Boston. Tell them they have three hours to assemble in the grand ballroom. Donatello wants to claim I’m compromised? Let him tell that to the entire family while I hold my daughter in my arms."
