Chapter 10 - The bloodline legacy
The cinematic warmth of the morning sun suddenly felt hollow against the cold stone of the patio. Frank DeLuca stared at the bloody silver coin in the black velvet box. The message was absolute. The New York Commission—the most powerful syndicate in the world, the men Frank had once ruled alongside—had accepted Leo’s help to destroy the Chicago cartel. But in the underworld, a twelve-year-old boy orchestrating a mafia hit was not viewed as an asset; it was viewed as an unacceptable threat. The Commission did not allow wildcards to exist. They were coming for Leo.
Frank slowly closed the velvet box. He did not show panic. He was a man forged in the fires of endless warfare. He turned to Marco.
Lock down the estate. Activate the perimeter defenses. I want every single man we have armed and stationed along the access roads. Call in the favors. Call the politicians. I want this mountain turned into an impenetrable fortress by noon.
Marco nodded grimly and sprinted back inside to execute the orders.
Frank looked down at Leo. The boy was staring at the velvet box in Frank’s hand. He did not look scared. His dark, intelligent eyes were rapidly calculating the tactical implications of the threat.
The Commission requires absolute loyalty, Leo stated, his young American accent smooth and precise. By utilizing them to eliminate Vance, I demonstrated an ability to manipulate their forces. They view my intellect as a future risk to their sovereignty. They have initiated a kill order.
Frank placed his large, calloused hand firmly on the back of the boy’s neck, a gesture of deep, protective affection. You are twelve years old, Leo. You don't have to talk like a military textbook anymore. Let me handle the Commission. You are a DeLuca. No one touches you while I breathe.
I am a DeLuca, Leo agreed, looking up at his grandfather. Which means I do not hide while my family fights a war I initiated. I require a weapon, grandfather.
Frank let out a low, gruff chuckle despite the terrifying circumstances. The boy’s fearless arrogance was exactly like his own at that age.
You're a little too young for a firearm, kid, Frank said, guiding Leo into the expansive, luxurious library of the estate. But I can give you something better.
The rest of the day was a blur of intense preparation. The cinematic lighting of the estate shifted from bright daylight to a deep, dramatic twilight. The heavily armed guards patrolled the snowy grounds. Inside the mahogany library, a roaring fire crackled in the hearth. Frank sat at his massive oak desk, not preparing weapons, but reviewing complex financial ledgers and property deeds. Leo sat opposite him, rapidly absorbing every piece of information Frank handed him.
They are coming with soldiers, grandfather, Leo noted, watching Frank sign a stack of legal documents. Why are we reviewing the holding companies for the New York shipping ports?
Because bullets only win battles, Leo, Frank said, not looking up from his pen. Money wins wars. The Commission derives sixty percent of its annual revenue from the East Coast shipping lanes. They use a network of shell corporations to mask the illegal imports. If we can isolate the primary holding company, we can freeze their entire logistical network with a single keystroke.
Leo’s eyes widened slightly, a flash of genuine respect breaking through his stoic demeanor. You are planning a hostile financial takeover to starve their army before they can strike.
Frank smiled, setting his pen down. I told you, kid. We are kings. And kings rule the board.
As the clock struck midnight, the heavy silence of the estate was shattered by the sound of roaring engines. A convoy of ten black, armored SUVs aggressively breached the lower gates of the mountain road. The Commission had arrived.
Frank stood up, buttoning his dark suit jacket. He grabbed his wooden cane.
Stay here, Frank commanded Leo. If the door opens and it isn't me, you press the red button under the desk. It seals the room and opens the emergency escape tunnel to the helipad. Understand?
Leo stood up, his fair skin glowing in the firelight. I understand. But you will return. The statistical probability of your defeat is negligible.
Frank smirked. Damn right it is.
Frank walked out of the library, the heavy oak doors closing behind him. He stepped out onto the grand front portico of the mansion. The cinematic floodlights illuminated the snowy driveway perfectly.
The ten armored SUVs skidded to a halt, surrounding the entrance. Fifty heavily armed Commission enforcers poured out of the vehicles, their weapons trained directly on Frank.
From the center SUV, the head of the New York Commission stepped out. It was Don Carmine, an elegant, ruthless man in his late sixties wearing a thick fur coat. He leaned on a silver-tipped cane, mocking Frank’s posture.
Frank, Carmine called out, his voice echoing in the cold mountain air. It breaks my heart to come to your home like this. We respect your legacy. But the boy is a danger to the established order. Hand him over, and you can live out your retirement in peace.
Frank stood alone on the steps, absolutely immovable. His broad shoulders squared against the freezing wind.
Carmine, Frank said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that carried effortlessly over the idling engines. You are standing on my property. You are threatening my blood. I strongly suggest you get back in your car and drive back to New York.
Carmine laughed, a harsh, grating sound. You are one man, Frank. I have fifty guns pointed at your head. You cannot win this.
I already have, Frank replied calmly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, encrypted tablet. He pressed a single button on the screen and tossed it down the snowy steps. It landed at Carmine’s feet.
Look at the screen, Carmine.
The mafia boss frowned, gesturing for one of his men to pick up the tablet. The enforcer handed it to Carmine. Carmine looked at the glowing screen, his arrogant smile instantly vanishing. His fair face turned a sickly shade of white.
What did you do? Carmine whispered in horror.
Frank leaned forward on his cane. Twelve minutes ago, my grandson executed a hostile digital takeover of the Vanguard Holding Corporation. He froze your accounts, Carmine. Every single one of them. He rerouted your shipping manifests to the FBI, and he transferred the deeds of your primary distribution centers to a blind trust owned by the DeLuca family. You don't have an empire anymore. You are completely bankrupt.
The Commission enforcers murmured nervously among themselves. They were mercenaries. They fought for money. If Carmine was broke, they had no reason to pull the trigger.
Tell your men to stand down, Frank ordered, his voice echoing with absolute, unquestionable authority. Or I press the second button, and the federal government gets the GPS coordinates to every safe house you own in the city.
Carmine’s hands shook with fury. He looked at Frank, the legendary boss who had outsmarted him without firing a single shot. He had underestimated the old man. But more importantly, he had underestimated the boy.
Lower your weapons, Carmine choked out to his men.
The fifty enforcers immediately dropped their rifles, eager to distance themselves from a sinking ship.
Get off my mountain, Frank growled. And if you ever look in the direction of my grandson again, I won't just take your money. I will take your life.
Carmine turned, utterly defeated, and climbed back into his SUV. Within minutes, the entire convoy reversed down the snowy driveway, disappearing into the dark winter night, leaving the DeLuca estate in absolute silence.
Frank let out a slow, deep breath. He turned and walked back into the warm, luxurious mansion. He opened the doors to the library.
Leo was sitting at the massive oak desk, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. He looked up as Frank entered.
The hostile takeover was successfully executed, grandfather, Leo said, closing the laptop. The Commission has been neutralized.
Frank walked over and sat heavily in the leather armchair opposite the boy. He placed his wooden cane on the floor. He looked at the twelve-year-old prodigy who had just helped him dismantle the most powerful crime syndicate in America.
You did good, kid, Frank said, a proud smile finally breaking across his face. You did real good.
Leo adjusted the cuffs of his white shirt. He looked at the empty black velvet box sitting on the edge of the desk. He closed the lid softly.
They will try again eventually, Leo noted calmly. Power abhors a vacuum. When they realize the Commission is weak, other factions will attempt to claim the throne.
Frank leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest. Let them try. Because the next time they come knocking, they won't just be dealing with a tired old retired boss. They’ll be dealing with the new head of the DeLuca family.
Leo looked at his grandfather, a spark of true, undeniable loyalty igniting in his young heart. He had spent his entire life being trained as a weapon for monsters. But now, he was finally home. He was a king in training.
May you like
I look forward to the challenge, Leo said, a small, confident smirk mirroring Frank’s perfectly.
The flames crackled warmly in the fireplace, casting long, dramatic shadows across the room, leaving the future of the DeLuca empire resting safely in the hands of the old lion and his brilliant, unbreakable heir.
