Chapter 6 - Shadows on the Lawn
Three weeks later, the autumn leaves had turned to a brilliant, fiery gold, blanketing the rolling hills of the Greenwich estate in a rust-colored carpet.
From the second-floor balcony of his private study, Alessandro Duca looked down through the crisp afternoon air toward the East Gate lodge.
Down on the grass, chasing a bright red rubber ball, was a little girl in a yellow jacket, laughing with a sound so pure and unburdened that it seemed to banish the cold stone shadows of the massive mansion entirely. Sophia sat on the porch steps of the lodge, sipping a cup of coffee—freshly brewed, inspected, and thoroughly safe—watching her daughter run with a radiant smile on her face.
Behind Alessandro, the heavy oak doors of the study opened silently.
Marco stepped into the room, holding a thick leather folder.
“The tribunal in Chicago has finalized the liquidation of Elena’s offshore accounts, Boss,” Marco reported in a low, even tone. “Her network in Europe has been neutralized. The Marseilles shipping lanes are completely secure.”
“Good,” Alessandro said without turning around, his eyes fixed on the little girl chasing the red ball down below.
“And Danny?” Marco asked. “He’s still cooperating in the holding block.”
“Send him to the penal colony in South America,” Alessandro replied coldly. “Let him cook for smugglers. He’ll be happier there.”
Marco nodded, turning to leave.
“Marco,” Alessandro called out softly.
“Boss?”
“Check the kitchen security logs this morning.”
Marco blinked, surprised. “The logs? Why? Everything’s clean. The new tasting protocols are foolproof.”
Alessandro turned away from the balcony, a faint, dark smile touching the corner of his mouth as he walked back toward his desk.
“I know,” Alessandro murmured, picking up his fresh porcelain cup of espresso and taking a slow, calm sip. “I just want to make sure no one is trying to sneak any extra chocolate chip cookies past the chief inspector.”
Marco stared at him for a second, then a rare, understanding grin flickered across his rugged face.
May you like
“Right away, Boss,” Marco said, and closed the door.
In the quiet sanctuary of the grand study, the Duca empire remained as powerful, feared, and untouchable as ever. But for the first time in sixteen years, the fortress had a heart—guarded not by armed men in black suits, but by a three-year-old girl with a battered gray rabbit and a nose for poison.
