Chapter 25 - The Poisoned Legacy
Daniel hit the stone floor hard, Barnaby pinned over his chest, heavy jaws inches from his throat, snarling with a ferocity that shook the foundations of the tunnel.
"Barnaby, hold!" Luca yelled, lunging forward to grab the dog's collar.
The hound obeyed instantly, holding the traitor down with heavy paws, his teeth bared, waiting for the command to finish it. Daniel lay motionless, staring up at Luca with hollow, defeated eyes.
"Kill me," Daniel whispered, closing his eyes. "Just do it, Boss. If you don't, Salvatore will slaughter my boy anyway."
Luca stood over Daniel, his chest heaving, his Kimber pointed straight down. I held Clara’s hand, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. Everything in the mafia code dictated that a traitor must die on the spot, without hesitation, without mercy.
Luca slowly lowered the hammer of his gun.
"Where is the safe house in Milan?" Luca asked, his voice shaking with restrained fury.
Daniel opened his eyes in shock. "What?"
"I asked you where your family is being kept, Daniel!" Luca roared, hauling the man up by the lapels of his tactical vest. "You think I'm going to let that scarred bastard murder a seven-year-old child to take my throne?! Give me the coordinates!"
Daniel blinked back tears, swallowing hard. "Via Montenapoleone, thirty-two... apartment four. Salvatore’s cousin Enzo is guarding the building."
Luca shoved Daniel back against the brick wall, pulling out an encrypted satellite phone from his tactical pocket. He dialed a number with vicious speed. "Vincenzo? This is Luca. Take the strike team in Rome. Hit the Milan safe house at Via Montenapoleone 32 within the hour. Extract Daniel’s family. Kill anyone who resists. Go!"
He snapped the phone shut and looked at Daniel with eyes like burning coals. "Your family will be on a private transport to safe territory by sunrise. But as for you... you leave this city tonight. If I ever see your face in Chicago again, Daniel, Barnaby won't stop."
Daniel fell to his knees on the cold cellar stones, sobbing into his hands. "Thank you, Boss... God, thank you..."
"Move!" Luca shouted, grabbing my hand and pulling Clara along behind us. "We don't have time! Salvatore’s team is flanking the west entrance!"
We burst through the heavy iron door at the end of the cellar tunnel, emerging into the cold midnight drizzle near the old carriage house. The lake stretched out before us, black and turbulent under the autumn storm.
Suddenly, floodlights erupted all around us.
Blinding white light stripped away the darkness. More than thirty armed men formed a semicircular perimeter around the boathouse, laser sights instantly painting our clothes in crimson dots.
And sitting on a wrought-iron garden bench beneath an ancient weeping willow, holding an umbrella in one hand and his cane in the other, was Salvatore.
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"You really are your mother's son," the old man sighed, shaking his head with genuine disappointment. "Spotted the rat, and instead of cutting his throat, you waste resources saving his litter. Weakness, Luca. Pure, pathetic weakness."
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