Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Duca Syndicate
The journey to the Central Citadel was executed under heavy military-grade security. A convoy of three armored black SUVs wound through the narrow, treacherous coastal roads leading into the heart of the city. Clara sat in the rear of the middle vehicle, seated beside Roman, who spent the ride loading silver-rimmed magazines into his sidearm.
"If Salieri is setting a trap, why are we walking directly into it?" Clara asked, watching the city skyline grow closer.
"Because in our world, fleeing is an admission of weakness," Roman explained, sliding the magazine into place with a sharp clack. "Salieri holds three of the five voting seats on the Syndicate Council. If I refuse his summons, he has the legal right within our code to declare war on the Duca family. But if we walk in together, we force him to play his hand in front of the entire underworld."
"He thinks I am weak," Clara said, her fingers tracing the velvet fabric of her dress. "He thinks I am just an ugly seamstress forced onto a throne."
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Roman stopped his preparations and looked at her, his gaze softening in a way no one in the syndicate had ever seen. "Then let him think that until it is too late. You carry the blood of Victor Valente, Clara. Your father was a giant among men. You carry his fire."
When the convoy arrived at the Citadel—a massive nineteenth-century stone fortress overlooking the docks—dozens of armed guards lined the courtyard. The atmosphere was thick with tension. As Roman stepped out of the vehicle, he extended his arm to Clara. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then placed her hand firmly in the crook of his elbow, holding her head high as they marched into the viper's nest.
