Chapter 5 - Breakfast with the Devil
At 7:30 AM, sunlight streamed through the French doors of the breakfast conservatory, illuminating the white orchids on the table.
I sat in my usual chair, dressed in a crisp charcoal three-piece suit, sipping black coffee I had brewed myself in the safe room.
I looked tired—I had made sure to smudge a bit of ash under my eyes to mimic the lingering effects of a failed sedative dose—and kept my movements intentionally sluggish.
The conservatory doors opened, and Vivien—or rather, Sofia Conti—floated in wearing a cream cashmere wrap dress.
When she saw me sitting upright with a newspaper in my hand, her heels clicked to a sudden, jarring halt on the marble floor. For half a second, her exquisite mask slipped, revealing pure, unadulterated shock.
Then, the brilliant actress recovered.
"Lorenzo!" she gasped, hurrying over to kiss my cheek. "You're awake early! I thought you were exhausted last night."
"I had the strangest headache after dinner," I said, rubbing my temples slowly and giving her a weak, groggy smile. "I ended up throwing up most of that Bordeaux before I went to bed. Must have been a bad cork."
Relief—sharp and ugly—flashed across her green eyes. He threw it up. That’s why the dose didn't paralyze him. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head.
"Oh, you poor thing," she cooed, sitting down across from me and pouring herself orange juice. "Let me have the chef make you some herbal tea."
"No need, I'm fine," I said, setting my paper down. "Though something strange did happen this morning. Rocco told me Elena and little Mia disappeared during the night. Packed their clothes and bolted."
Vivien’s hand paused over the butter dish. "Really? How ungrateful after everything you've done for them."
"Indeed," I murmured, watching her closely. "Perhaps she felt guilty. Or perhaps someone scared her out of her wits."
"Maid staff can be so dramatic, darling," Vivien said breezily, checking her diamond watch. "Are you still going into Manhattan for the 9:00 AM board meeting? You look so pale. Why don't you stay home and sign the emergency proxy over to your father's lawyer, Arthur Vance? He can handle the Chicago harbor vote for you."
There it was. The trap door.
If I signed emergency proxy over to Arthur Vance—Luca and Julian’s father—while my mother was legally incapacitated, Arthur would have 100% voting control over Duca Enterprises and the Zurich accounts.
Before I could answer, a tiny voice echoed from the conservatory doorway.
"Uncle Lorenzo?"
Vivien spun around so fast her coffee cup rattled in its saucer.
Standing in the doorway, holding Rocco’s massive scarred hand, was three-year-old Mia. She was wearing a clean yellow dress, clutching her stuffed rabbit, looking directly at Vivien without a shred of fear.
Behind them stood Elena, her head held high.
Vivien’s face went ghost-white. "What... what is the meaning of this? Lorenzo, you just said they ran away!"
"I lied," I said, my groggy tone vanishing instantly, replaced by the cold, lethal baritone that made cartel bosses sweat. "Just like Elena lied last night at dinner when you threatened to drown her three-year-old daughter in the river if she didn't forge my mother’s blessing."
Vivien shot up from her chair, knocking it backward onto the marble floor.
"You're insane!" she hissed, backing toward the patio doors. "You're listening to a filthy maid and a toddler over your own fiancée?!"
"No, Sofia," I said, standing up slowly and buttoning my suit jacket. "I'm listening to Julian Vance, who is currently singing like a canary in my wine cellar right next to his brother Luca."
At the sound of her real name—*Sofia*—all pretence vanished. Her angelic face twisted into a mask of pure, generational hatred.
May you like
"You think you've won?" she spat, backing up against the glass doors. "Look at your phone, Lorenzo! My brother Matteo didn't need your signature this morning—Arthur Vance already filed your mother's death certificate with the state court twenty minutes ago, and Matteo’s mercenaries just breached the perimeter of your Manhattan headquarters!"
---
