Chapter 9
"You brought a two-shot derringer into my house, Marcus?" Vittorio asked softly, the deep timber of his voice echoing off the high ceilings. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, completely ignoring the silver weapon aimed squarely at his chest.
"Stay back!" Marcus bellowed, his finger tightening nervously on the trigger. Sweat beaded on his forehead, ruining his smug, polished appearance. "I'll shoot you in the heart, Moretti! I swear to God I will!"
"You don't have the nerve," Vittorio stated, taking another step. He was now only three feet away from the trembling corporate fixer. "You are a man who bullies four-year-old girls and hides behind women. You are a parasite. Parasites don't kill lions. They just get crushed beneath them."
Bianca let out a piercing scream from the ottoman. "Shoot him, Marcus! Do it now before his men get here!"
Marcus gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger.
Click.
The dull, metallic sound of a firing pin striking an empty chamber echoed through the breakfast room. Marcus’s eyes widened in absolute horror. He stared down at the small silver pistol, frantically trying to cock the hammer again.
"What... how?" Marcus stammered, his American accent slurring with panic.
Vittorio’s expression remained frighteningly calm. "Did you really think my security team doesn't sweep the guest quarters? They emptied that toy of yours three days ago while you were sleeping."
Before Marcus could even process the reality of his situation, the heavy double doors of the breakfast room burst open.
Four massive men in dark suits stormed into the room, their weapons drawn and leveled instantly at Marcus and Bianca. They moved with absolute military precision, forming a lethal perimeter around their boss.
"Boss," Carlo, a heavily scarred enforcer, said in a low, gravelly voice. "The perimeter is secure. The Sterling convoy at the gate has been neutralized."
"Good," Vittorio nodded, not taking his eyes off Marcus.
Marcus dropped the empty pistol to the marble floor. It clattered uselessly. He raised his hands, dropping to his knees. "Vittorio, wait! We can negotiate! I have access to the Sterling offshore accounts! I can give you everything!"
Vittorio stepped forward, his tall, muscular build towering over the pleading man. He looked down with profound disgust. "I already have everything I need."
He turned his attention to Bianca, who was now hyperventilating on the leather ottoman, her perfectly styled blonde hair plastered to her wet face.
"Carlo," Vittorio commanded, his voice cold and authoritative.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Take Marcus down to the soundproof basement," Vittorio instructed. "He mentioned something earlier about locking people in the dark. Let him experience it for a few days before we send his pieces back to his syndicate."
"No! Please, God, no!" Marcus screamed as two of the massive guards grabbed him by the arms and dragged him violently out of the room, his expensive leather shoes scraping harshly against the marble floor.
Vittorio then looked at the dog bowl sitting near Bianca’s feet.
"And her?" Carlo asked, stepping toward the trembling woman in the champagne-colored silk blouse.
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"Leave her," Vittorio said softly. "I want her to sit exactly where she is. When she finishes the cereal in that bowl, you may escort her to the basement as well."
Bianca let out a guttural wail, sliding off the ottoman and collapsing onto the Persian rug in a heap of shattered elegance. Vittorio turned his back on her, walking toward the door to find his daughter.
