Chapter 5 - The Snake at the Table
By 4:45 AM, the storm had returned, battering the high windows of the Duca study with sheets of icy rain.
Inside the study, the air was suffocatingly tense. The scent of blood and poison had been scrubbed clean by Dominic’s men, but the atmosphere remained heavy with impending violence.
Grace Harper had been moved to a secure, comfortable suite on the third floor under the guard of two heavily armed enforcers. Mia and her baby sister were upstairs with her, eating hot food provided by the estate kitchen.
Elena was hidden in the adjoining private library behind a heavy velvet curtain, resting on a plush sofa with a loaded pistol in her lap—a gift from her brother.
At 5:00 AM sharp, the heavy oak doors of the study swung open.
Five men stepped into the room. They were the senior capos of the Duca crime syndicate—men who controlled the docks, the construction unions, the gambling dens, and the narcotics trade across New England.
Leading them was Silas Duca.
Silas was sixty-five years old, impeccably groomed, wearing a double-breasted charcoal suit, a silk tie, and a thick silver signet ring on his right pinky finger. He carried an ivory-handled walking cane, though he walked without a limp. He smelled faintly of expensive cigar smoke and peppermint.
"Roman," Silas said, stepping onto the Persian rug, his voice rich and full of false patriarch warmth. "What is the meaning of this emergency summons? We were supposed to meet at the North End club in an hour. The capos are restless. Providence is pushing hard on the border—"
"Sit down, Silas," Roman interrupted quietly.
Roman sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his hands resting flat on the leather blotter. On either side of the room stood Dominic and six tall enforcers, their hands folded in front of them, their faces set like stone.
The five capos looked around the room, sensing something deeply wrong. The air was too cold. The guards were too quiet.
"Roman," one of the senior capos, Vic Moretti (no relation to the Providence family), spoke up nervously. "Is there a problem with the Providence deal?"
"There is no problem with Providence," Roman said smoothly. "Providence is doing exactly what they were paid to do: create a distraction so a snake in this room could finish his business."
Silas’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile didn't fade. He rested both hands on his ivory cane. "Roman, you’re tired. You’ve been driving back and forth to Rhode Island for three days. You aren't making sense."
"I found something tonight, Uncle Silas," Roman said, leaning back in his leather chair. "Right behind this desk."
Silas didn't flinch, but his fingers tightened a fraction of a millimeter on his cane. "Did you?"
"I found out why Dr. Victor Vance was ordering four hundred milligrams of potassium chloride from the pharmaceutical supply house in East Boston every month," Roman continued, his eyes locked onto Silas's face. "And I found out who was paying his bills."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The other capos exchanged bewildered, uneasy glances.
"Victor Vance is a family doctor," Silas said smoothly, taking a slow step toward the desk. "He manages medical supplies for our street soldiers. If there's an irregularity in his books, we can have Frank look over the ledgers—"
"Victor Vance is dead, Silas," Roman stated plainly.
The room gasped. Vic Moretti took an involuntary step back toward the door, but two guards immediately shifted, blocking the exit.
Silas’s smile finally withered. His eyes turned dark, sharp, and cold as flint. "You killed our family doctor, Roman? Without a vote from the council? You’re acting like a tyrant. Your father would never—"
"My father was a monster," Roman barked, his voice suddenly cutting through the room like an axe through wood. "He locked his own daughter in a stone room behind that wall eleven years ago!"
Silas went completely rigid.
The other four capos stared at Roman in absolute, incomprehensible horror.
"What... what did you say?" Vic whispered, his face going gray. "Elena? Elena was killed by the Morettis eleven years ago..."
"That's what Silas told us," Roman said, standing up slowly from his chair, towering over his uncle. "That's what Silas told my father to do when Elena found out that Silas was stealing millions from the construction funds. My father was too coward to kill her, so Silas offered to keep her hidden—a living corpse to keep the trust open!"
"This is madness!" Silas roared, raising his cane, his face contorting into a mask of rage. "He’s lost his mind! Roman has broken under the pressure of the war! Seize him!"
Not a single capo moved. Not a single guard blinked.
"Dominic," Roman commanded softly.
Dominic walked over to the velvet curtain near the private library and pulled it back.
Elena Duca stepped out into the light.
She leaned heavily on a wooden cane, her white hair glowing under the chandelier, her thin, pale face fixed on Silas Duca. In her hand, she held the old leather-bound red ledger she had dragged out of the wall cell.
The four capos dropped to their knees or stumbled back against the bookshelves, clutching their crosses, weeping in shock.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph..." Vic sobbed, covering his mouth. "She’s alive... she’s really alive..."
Silas stared at Elena as if a demon had crawled out of the floorboards. His mouth worked silently, his bravado instantly evaporating into pure, toxic terror.
"You..." Silas choked out, his voice trembling violently. "You... you were supposed to be... Vance was supposed to—"
"Vance is at the bottom of the river, Silas," Elena said, her raspy voice echoing through the study with cold, absolute vengeance. "And your red ledger is in my brother's hands."
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Silas realized in that single second that he was completely, utterly doomed. His political leverage was gone. His secret was exposed. His control over the syndicate was destroyed.
With a sudden, desperate screech of rage, Silas twisted the ivory handle of his walking cane, pulling a ten-inch steel blade from the shaft, and lunged straight at Elena’s throat!
