Chapter 27
The cleanup of the estate was immaculate and swift, mirroring the ruthless efficiency with which Lorenzo ran his empire. By dawn, the grounds were pristine, the breached gates were under repair, and the bodies of the mercenaries had vanished into the shadows, leaving no trace for the authorities to find.
Lorenzo sat in his private study, the morning sun pouring through the windows, bathing the room in bright, cheerful colors that completely belied the violence of the previous night. He wore a fresh, tailored suit, the tactical gear discarded, looking once again like an elegant, sophisticated movie star.
His tactical commander stood before the mahogany desk, presenting a decrypted tablet.
"We traced the funding for the mercenary assault, Boss," the commander reported, his voice grim. "It wasn't a European coalition. It was domestic."
Lorenzo’s dark eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Who?"
"Julian Mercer," the commander stated.
The name hung in the quiet study like a toxic cloud. Lorenzo stared at the tablet, absorbing the information. Julian Mercer, the arrogant, cowardly son-in-law he had banished to the harbor, had somehow survived and orchestrated the attack.
"He must have escaped the cleanup crew at the docks before they could finish the job," the commander explained apologetically. "He accessed a hidden offshore account and hired The Architects in a desperate bid for revenge."
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Lorenzo didn't scream. He didn't rage. He felt a cold, liquid nitrogen of pure, unadulterated fury replace the blood in his veins. He had spared Julian's life once, assuming the man was too pathetic to pose a true threat. It was a mistake he would rectify immediately.
"Find him," Lorenzo commanded, his voice so low it barely registered. "I don't care what it costs or how many men it takes. Find Julian Mercer. And bring him to me."
