Chapter 6 - Whispers in the West Wing
Inside the mansion, peering through the heavy velvet curtains of the second-floor gallery, Clara and Marco watched the confrontation unfold in the courtyard below.
“They have the ledger,” Clara whispered, her hands flying to her mouth. “How did Bianchi get it? I hid it in the floorboards of our old apartment!”
“Because nothing stays buried in New York forever, Clara,” Marco said grimly, keeping his rifle trained on the courtyard through a narrow gap in the drapes. “Bianchi isn't here for a negotiation. He’s here to force Lorenzo into a corner where he has to choose between the child... and his own survival.”
Down in the courtyard, Lorenzo slowly walked toward the leather briefcase resting on the stone.
“You think a book of old names breaks me, Vittorio?” Lorenzo asked, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the mansion.
“Not the names, Lorenzo. The consequences,” Bianchi laughed, raising a hand. Two of his men pulled open the side doors of the second SUV.
Bound and gagged, with a black hood over his head, an elderly accountant—the very man who had kept the books fifteen years ago—was dragged out and shoved onto his knees on the gravel.
“Your father’s accountant,” Bianchi smiled. “He survived the fire, Lorenzo. And for fifteen years, he’s been living under an alias provided by none other than... Marco Rossi. Ask your loyal dog why he kept the accountant alive. Ask him whose orders he was really following.”
Lorenzo stopped walking. He didn't look at the briefcase. He turned his head slightly toward the second-floor window where Marco was standing.
For fifteen years, Marco had been his shadow, his shield, his brother in arms. And now, the foundation was cracking wide open.
“Marco,” Lorenzo’s voice boomed across the courtyard, carrying up to the gallery. “Get down here.”
A moment later, the heavy oak doors of the grand entrance swung open. Marco walked out onto the stone porch, his hand steady on his weapon, his face carved from stone. He didn't look at Bianchi. He looked only at Lorenzo.
“Is it true?” Lorenzo asked, his voice dangerously low.
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“Yes, Boss,” Marco said clearly, stepping down the grand staircase into the courtyard. “I hid the accountant. And I hid Clara’s family. Not to betray you... but to keep you from destroying yourself before you were strong enough to finish the war.”
Bianchi grinned, raising his hand to give the signal. “Family feuds are always so touching. Now, let’s see how loyal your dog really is when the bullets start flying.”
