Chapter 13 — The Duca War
Chapter 13 — The Duca War
At 5:12 a.m., Lorenzo Duca declared war.
Not against Serena.
Not against the Romano family.
Not even against the Black Table.
He declared war against everyone who believed they could decide the fate of his family without consequence.
The first thing he did was surprisingly simple.
He turned off every phone in the house.
Every computer.
Every security system.
Every device connected to the outside world.
Marco stared at him.
"You think we're compromised?"
Lorenzo looked at the dark monitors.
"I know we are."
He placed Mia's drawing on the table.
"The question is how deep."
Elena stood across the room.
"Deep enough to know where Serena is."
Lorenzo nodded.
"Then we stop giving them information."
Marco understood.
"Analog."
"Exactly."
For the first time in twenty years, the Duca organization disappeared from the digital world.
No messages.
No bank transfers.
No encrypted calls.
No security alerts.
Nothing.
For several minutes, the empire became invisible.
Then something unexpected happened.
A police convoy arrived outside.
Twenty-seven officers surrounded the estate.
Their lights painted the windows red and blue.
Marco looked through binoculars.
"State police."
Lorenzo shook his head.
"Too fast."
One of the officers stepped toward the gate.
"Open the gate!"
Marco didn't move.
The officer shouted again.
"We have a warrant for Lorenzo Duca."
Lorenzo looked at the clock.
"Five twenty-one."
Marco frowned.
"What?"
"The warrant was issued five minutes ago."
"How do you know?"
"Because the courthouse doesn't open until nine."
Marco stared at him.
Lorenzo smiled coldly.
"Someone is writing warrants in advance."
The police commander approached the gate.
Captain Richard Hale.
Lorenzo recognized him.
A man who had attended his father's funeral.
A man who had once sworn loyalty to the Duca family.
A man Lorenzo had personally promoted after a bombing destroyed his precinct.
Hale raised his badge.
"Lorenzo!"
Lorenzo stepped outside.
"Captain."
"We need to talk."
"You have a warrant."
"Yes."
"Signed by whom?"
Hale hesitated.
"Judge Martin."
"Martin is in Miami."
Another pause.
"Emergency authorization."
"At five in the morning?"
Hale's jaw tightened.
"Lorenzo, don't make this harder."
Lorenzo walked closer.
"What exactly am I accused of?"
"Conspiracy."
"With whom?"
"Serena Romano."
Lorenzo laughed.
"You want me to believe Serena reported me?"
Hale didn't answer.
Lorenzo looked behind him.
Twenty-seven officers.
Six vehicles.
Two armored vans.
One helicopter.
Too much force.
Not for an arrest.
For a takeover.
"You aren't here for me."
Hale's eyes changed.
Lorenzo smiled.
"You're here for the files."
Hale raised his hand.
"Take him."
The gates opened.
Gunfire erupted.
Not from Lorenzo's men.
From the police.
Marco shouted:
"DOWN!"
The Duca guards returned fire from defensive positions.
Lorenzo pulled Elena and Mia behind the stone wall.
Glass shattered.
Cars screeched.
Sirens screamed.
For thirty seconds, the estate became a battlefield.
Then silence.
Lorenzo looked up.
No one had crossed the gate.
The police had retreated.
But one officer remained.
He stood beside the gate with his weapon lowered.
Lorenzo recognized him.
Detective Paul Mercer.
Mercer raised both hands.
"I need to talk to you."
Marco aimed at him.
"Drop the gun."
Mercer slowly placed it on the ground.
"I was ordered to kill you."
Lorenzo stared.
"By whom?"
Mercer looked terrified.
"Not Serena."
"Who?"
"The woman above her."
Lorenzo's eyes hardened.
"The Architect."
Mercer nodded.
"She controls more than you think."
Mercer was brought inside.
He told them the truth.
At least part of it.
The Black Table had spent years placing people inside the police department.
Not hundreds.
Dozens.
Enough to redirect investigations.
Enough to destroy evidence.
Enough to make an innocent man look guilty.
Enough to turn a warrant into a weapon.
And the Duca family wasn't the only target.
Banks.
Judges.
Politicians.
Private security companies.
Even hospitals.
Lorenzo listened without interrupting.
Then asked:
"How many?"
Mercer swallowed.
"Inside the NYPD?"
"Yes."
"Twenty-three that I know of."
"Federal?"
"Seven."
"Judges?"
"Four."
"Prosecutors?"
"Three."
Lorenzo looked at Marco.
"This isn't an organization."
Marco nodded.
"It's infrastructure."
Exactly.
The Black Table wasn't controlling the city from one building.
It had become part of the city.
Invisible.
Distributed.
Patient.
At 6:03 a.m., Lorenzo made his second move.
He called every Duca ally.
Most didn't answer.
Some numbers were disconnected.
Some phones went straight to voicemail.
Others answered.
Then lied.
One by one, Lorenzo realized something terrifying.
His allies were disappearing.
Not because they had betrayed him.
Because they had been threatened.
At 6:21 a.m., his oldest ally, Vincent Moretti, finally answered.
"Lorenzo."
"Vincent."
"You need to leave the city."
"Why?"
"They're coming for you."
"Who?"
"Everyone."
Lorenzo frowned.
Vincent lowered his voice.
"They froze my accounts."
"Why?"
"They say I'm financing terrorism."
Lorenzo went silent.
Vincent continued.
"They seized my warehouses."
"They can't."
"They already did."
"How?"
"Federal authorization."
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
"Who signed it?"
Vincent hesitated.
"Your own attorney."
The call ended.
Lorenzo stared at the phone.
Marco whispered:
"They're dismantling us."
"No."
Lorenzo put the phone down.
"They're isolating us."
At 7:02 a.m., another message arrived.
A video.
Serena was still alive.
She sat in a dark room.
Her face was bruised.
Her hands were bound.
But she was conscious.
A man stood behind her.
The video lasted only twelve seconds.
Then the screen went black.
A voice spoke.
"You have five hours."
Lorenzo stared at the screen.
He recognized the voice.
Not because he had heard it recently.
Because he had heard it as a child.
A woman singing in the hallway.
A woman who had visited his father's house.
A woman who had held his hand when he was six.
A woman whose photograph had appeared beside Antonio's.
Lorenzo whispered:
"No."
Marco looked at him.
"Who?"
Lorenzo didn't answer.
He walked toward the old family archive.
He opened a cabinet.
Pulled out a photograph.
A younger Isabella.
Standing beside Antonio.
And another woman.
Lorenzo touched the photograph.
"She's been here before."
"Who?"
Lorenzo finally answered.
"Dr. Eleanor Voss."
Marco frowned.
"The psychiatrist?"
"She treated me after my father's death."
Marco stared.
"That's impossible."
Lorenzo shook his head.
"Nothing is impossible anymore."
Eleanor Voss had been the person who taught Lorenzo how to control his anger.
How to sleep.
How to process grief.
How to survive his father's death.
She had told him:
"Your father loved you."
"Your family is safe."
"Trust your instincts."
Lorenzo remembered every word.
Now he realized something.
She had known everything about him.
His fears.
His habits.
His dreams.
His weaknesses.
His childhood.
And she had spent years studying him.
Not healing him.
Preparing him.
Lorenzo's hands trembled.
Marco asked:
"Do you think she's the Architect?"
Lorenzo looked at the photograph.
"I think she wants me to believe she is."
At 7:40 a.m., the Duca estate lost power.
The backup generators failed.
Then the gates opened automatically.
Every security camera shut down.
Marco cursed.
"We're blind."
Lorenzo picked up a flashlight.
"No."
He smiled.
"They're blind too."
He had expected this.
The estate's oldest security system was completely mechanical.
No network.
No electricity required.
He pulled a lever behind the library.
Steel shutters slammed over every window.
Hidden barriers rose from the ground.
The estate transformed into a fortress.
Marco stared.
"I didn't know this existed."
"My father built it."
"When?"
"Before I was born."
Lorenzo looked toward the underground passage.
"Tonight, I finally understand why."
The counterattack began at 8:15 a.m.
Not with guns.
With information.
Lorenzo released evidence to three independent journalists.
Bank records.
Photographs.
Police communications.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
The evidence showed that officers had been paid to alter investigations.
Judges had received hidden transfers.
Politicians had attended secret meetings.
Hospitals had falsified medical records.
And at the center of several transactions appeared the same name.
Eleanor Voss.
The city exploded.
News stations interrupted programming.
Federal agencies began investigating.
Police commanders denied everything.
Politicians demanded answers.
The Black Table suddenly had a public face.
And that was something it had avoided for decades.
Lorenzo had forced the monster into daylight.
At 9:06 a.m., Eleanor called.
Lorenzo answered.
"Hello, Lorenzo."
He smiled.
"Doctor."
"You've made a mistake."
"No."
"You've exposed information you don't understand."
"I understand enough."
"You think the police will protect you?"
"No."
"The government?"
"No."
"Your allies?"
"No."
Lorenzo leaned back.
"That's the point."
Silence.
"You don't understand what you've started."
Lorenzo's voice became cold.
"I understand exactly what I've started."
"You've declared war on the city."
"No."
He looked at Mia.
"I'm declaring war on the people who think they own it."
Eleanor laughed softly.
"You still think this is about money."
"It isn't."
"You still think Serena matters."
"She does."
"You think your child matters."
Lorenzo froze.
Eleanor continued.
"Your unborn child will belong to us."
Lorenzo's expression changed.
"No."
"Everything belongs to the Black Table eventually."
"Not my family."
"You cannot protect them."
"Watch me."
The call ended.
At 10:14 a.m., Mercer returned.
He carried a folder.
"I found something."
Lorenzo opened it.
Inside was a map.
The entire city.
Red marks covered it.
Police stations.
Hospitals.
Courthouses.
Banks.
Warehouses.
Private clubs.
And one location circled in black.
A hospital.
The same hospital where Matteo had been treated.
Lorenzo's blood ran cold.
"Why this place?"
Mercer looked at him.
"Because Serena is there."
Lorenzo stared.
"How do you know?"
Mercer pointed to the map.
"Because the woman who controls the Black Table has been using the hospital's basement for years."
Marco stepped forward.
"Who is the patient?"
Mercer hesitated.
"The patient isn't Serena."
Lorenzo looked at him.
"Then who?"
Mercer whispered:
"Your father."
Silence.
Lorenzo stared at the map.
"Antonio is dead."
"I know."
"He's been dead for fifteen years."
Mercer shook his head.
"The body buried under his name was never identified."
Lorenzo's heart stopped.
"You're saying my father might be alive?"
Mercer nodded.
"That's what the records suggest."
Lorenzo looked at Mia.
Then at the photograph of Antonio.
Everything he had believed was collapsing again.
His father's death.
His mother's lies.
Serena.
Victor.
The Architect.
The Black Table.
None of it was what it seemed.
Marco asked:
"What do we do?"
Lorenzo stood.
"We go to the hospital."
"With the police watching?"
"Without them."
"And the Black Table?"
Lorenzo picked up his weapon.
"They've spent decades preparing for war."
He looked toward the door.
"So have I."
At 11:02 a.m., Lorenzo left the estate through an underground tunnel.
He wasn't alone.
Marco came with him.
Mercer came too.
And Mia stayed behind with Elena, protected by the oldest Duca guards.
Before Lorenzo disappeared into the tunnel, Mia grabbed his hand.
She pointed toward the hospital.
Then made a circle with her fingers.
Lorenzo crouched.
"What?"
Mia pointed to herself.
Then to the drawing.
Then to the word she had written.
DAD.
Lorenzo understood.
She wanted him to come back.
He touched her forehead.
"I will."
Then he walked away.
Behind him, the Duca estate locked itself shut.
Ahead of him waited the hospital.
And beneath it, possibly the father he had buried fifteen years ago.
But Lorenzo didn't know one thing.
The moment he entered that hospital, the Architect would make her final move.
Because the Duca war had never been about destroying Lorenzo.
It had been about forcing him to uncover the truth.
May you like
And now that he was finally close to it...
someone was preparing to make sure he never walked out alive.
