Chapter 5 - The Ambush at Eight
The rain had cleared by the following afternoon, leaving the sky over Long Island a pale, crisp gray. The wind blew cold off the Sound, rustling the golden and red leaves hanging from the ancient oak trees near the eastern limestone wall.
At precisely 7:55 PM, Lorenzo Duca walked out the side entrance of his mansion.
He was dressed in his usual dark wool coat, carrying no visible weapons. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets as he stepped onto the gravel path leading toward the treeline.
Inside the hidden security room deep beneath the house, Rocco Bellini monitored forty high-definition camera feeds. Beside him stood twelve armed men, their heavy assault rifles prepped, waiting for the signal.
In Rhode Island, Clara Bennett sat in a secure living room, watching the clock on the wall tick toward eight o'clock, praying silently for a man she had only just begun to truly see.
At 7:59 PM, Lorenzo reached the thick grove of oak trees near the eastern boundary.
The air was dead silent, save for the distant crashing of waves against the rocks below the cliff.
Lorenzo stopped. He pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket, opened it, and struck a match. The small flame flickered in the dark, illuminating his cold, unreadable face.
"You're a creature of habit, Duca," a rasping voice called out from the darkness of the treeline.
Lorenzo didn't flinch. He lit his cigarette, took a slow pull, and blew a thin cloud of gray smoke into the freezing night air.
"And you're loud, Kane," Lorenzo replied calmly. "I could smell your cheap cologne ten yards away."
A tall, wire-thin man stepped out from behind a massive oak tree. He wore a dark leather trench coat. Under the faint moonlight, the sinister black ink of a coiled viper was visible on the left side of his neck, its sharp fangs stretching toward his ear. Behind him, eight armed men in black tactical gear materialized from the shadows, their weapons raised.
Silas Kane smiled, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. "Tony Rizzi gave us a good deal. One clean walk, no bodyguards, five million dollars from Moretti once you're in the back of my van."
"Tony was a fool," Lorenzo said smoothly, taking another pull from his cigarette. "He thought he was selling me out. He didn't realize he was setting a table for a dinner party."
Kane’s grin flickered. He frowned, stepping forward. "What are you talking about?"
Lorenzo dropped his cigarette onto the damp earth and crushed it beneath his leather shoe.
"Did you really think a three-year-old girl could see you standing outside my wall without me knowing about it?" Lorenzo asked, his voice dropping into that dark, terrifying register.
Kane’s eyes went wide with sudden realization. "The kid..."
Before Kane could raise his silenced pistol, floodlights mounted along the twelve-foot limestone wall suddenly roared to life, blinding Kane and his men in a brilliant, white glare.
Heavy engines roared from behind the trees as three armored SUVs burst through the brush, blocking every exit route.
"Drop your weapons!" Rocco’s voice boomed over an external speaker. "You are surrounded!"
Panic erupted among Kane’s men. Two of his operatives raised their rifles toward the lights, but snipers positioned on the estate roof fired instantly, two crisp shots echoing through the night as both men dropped to the grass.
The remaining six men immediately dropped their weapons to the damp ground, raising their hands in total surrender.
Only Silas Kane stood his ground, his face contorted in rage, his pistol pointing directly at Lorenzo’s chest.
"I'm taking you with me, Duca!" Kane screamed.
Lorenzo didn't dodge. He moved forward with astonishing speed. Before Kane could pull the trigger, Lorenzo slammed his hand down on Kane’s wrist, forcing the gun upward as a loud shot blasted into the night sky. With his other hand, Lorenzo grabbed Kane by the neck—right over the snake tattoo—and drove him violently backward into the trunk of a massive oak tree.
Kane gasped for air, his feet dangling two inches off the ground as Lorenzo’s grip tightened around his throat.
"My home," Lorenzo whispered into Kane’s ear, his voice tight with absolute fury, "is where that little girl plays. You brought weapons near her. You brought violence to her mother's doorstep."
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Kane clawed desperately at Lorenzo’s hand, his face turning purple under the floodlights. "Please..."
"Tell Victor Moretti," Lorenzo growled, slamming Kane against the tree once more before letting him drop into the mud, "that if he ever looks at Long Island again, I will tear his empire down brick by brick."
