Chapter 10
The harsh fluorescent light of the interrogation room cast deep, ugly shadows across Luciano’s face. He stood perfectly still, processing his father’s final, desperate revelation. Augusto hadn't just recorded the footage to use as blackmail; he had live-streamed the assault directly to the heads of the most powerful criminal syndicates in the country.
"You sent the footage," Luciano repeated, his voice dropping into a deadly, freezing whisper.
"Yes!" Augusto nodded frantically, mistaking Luciano’s calm for hesitation. "The Commission has the evidence of your instability! If you kill us down here, you will be executed by the Five Families for violating the code! You have to let us go, Luciano! It’s the only way to prevent a national war!"
"You think the Commission cares about a broken nose?" Luciano asked softly, walking slowly around the metal chairs, pacing like a predator inspecting its trapped prey. "You think they will declare war on the most profitable syndicate on the East Coast because I hit my treacherous brother?"
"They will use any excuse to remove a Boss they cannot control!" Augusto argued, his chest heaving. "They want the old ways back! They want the narcotics routes reopened! They will use the video to justify your execution and place me back on the throne!"
Luciano stopped pacing. He stood directly in front of his father. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored dark suit and pulled out the smartphone Nora had handed him in the foyer.
He unlocked the device and held the bright, cinematic screen up so both men could see it.
"You are old, Father," Luciano said, his American accent dripping with condescending pity. "And you do not understand modern technology."
"What are you talking about?" Augusto wheezed, straining against the zip-ties.
"The video file didn't upload to a secure server," Luciano explained, speaking slowly, measuring out the old man's doom. "Because my estate is fortified with military-grade signal jammers. The moment you cross the threshold of my front gates, your devices route through my private intranet."
Augusto’s eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. "No... that's impossible. I saw the upload bar complete."
"It completed an upload to my head of intelligence, Thomas," Luciano corrected smoothly, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "He intercepted the stream. The Commission saw nothing. They know nothing. You have no leverage. You have no allies. You are completely, utterly alone in the dark."
Dario began to sob hysterically, thrashing against the plastic restraints, realizing that their only lifeline was completely fictitious. "Dom, please! We're your blood! You can't kill us! We're family!"
"You ceased to be family. The moment you pushed my wife," Luciano whispered.
He turned his back on them and walked toward the heavy steel door.
"Marcus," Luciano called out.
The head of security stepped into the doorway, his face devoid of any emotion.
"Take them to the incinerator," Luciano commanded, his volume incredibly low but echoing with final, absolute authority. "Burn the clothes. Burn the bodies. I want no trace of them left by sunrise."
"Luciano, no! You can't do this! I am your father!" Augusto screamed, his voice cracking into a pathetic, terrified shriek as Marcus drew his suppressed weapon.
Luciano did not look back. He stepped out of the interrogation room, the heavy steel door slamming shut behind him, cutting off the screams of the traitors instantly.
He walked up the concrete stairs, leaving the darkness of the basement behind him, and stepped back into the bright, opulent hallways of his estate. He walked back to the surgical wing, where his wife and his newborn son were sleeping safely in the sterile, pristine light.
The internal coup had been crushed with absolute, terrifying brutality. He had protected his bloodline and secured his throne. But as Luciano stood outside the nursery window, looking at the tiny, fragile boy sleeping in the incubator, his encrypted phone vibrated heavily in his pocket.
He pulled it out. A single, ominous text message glowed on the screen from an unknown international number.
May you like
We didn't need the video, Luciano. We have the girl.
Luciano’s cold, sharp eyes narrowed. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he gripped the phone. The local traitors were dead, but a much larger, darker war had just arrived at his doorstep. He slipped the phone away, his jaw clenching as he prepared to bathe the city in blood.
