Chapter 4 - Whispering Shadows
The next morning, the front page of the Greyhaven Chronicle carried a headline that sent shockwaves through the entire eastern seaboard:
MAFIA DON LORENZO DUCA PRESUMED DEAD IN HORRIFIC HARBOR CRASH; TRUSTED AIDE DAMIAN ROSSI SURVIVES.
At the Duca estate, the atmosphere was like a tomb.
Guards in black suits stood rigidly by the iron gates, their faces grim. Inside the grand foyer, staff members moved in hushed whispers, dressed in black or navy blue. The news had spread like wildfire. Without Lorenzo, the fragile peace between the five families was about to shatter into a thousand pieces of shrapnel.
Vivian Castellano arrived at ten in the morning, dressed in an impeccably tailored Chanel mourning suit, her eyes ringed with theatrical, designer tears. She was met at the door by Old Rosa Bellini, the head housekeeper.
"Vivian, signora, we are all devastated," Rosa said, her voice cracking.
"Where is Damian?" Vivian asked, her voice dropping the public grief instantly, replaced by a sharp, cold edge of authority.
"In the master study, signora. He is meeting with the capos to arrange the transition of power."
Vivian walked down the long hallway, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. She pushed open the heavy oak door of Lorenzo’s private study.
Damian Rossi sat behind the massive mahogany desk that had belonged to Lorenzo’s father. He wasn't wearing his usual subordinate suit; he wore a charcoal three-piece suit that instantly made him look like the new master of the house. On the desk sat a crystal decanter of whiskey and two crystal glasses.
"You handled the press well," Vivian said, closing the door behind her and walking over to the desk.
"The police bought the report hook, line, and sinker," Damian replied, pouring himself a finger of amber liquid. "The car went off the pier at ninety miles an hour. The current in the deep channel is too strong. Even if his body washes up, it'll be unrecognizable."
Vivian poured herself a drink, her hand steady. "And the council? Will the Morettis accept us?"
"They’ll accept whoever controls the shipping docks and the police bribes," Damian smirked, leaning back in Lorenzo’s leather chair. "And right now, that's us. Once the probate lawyer opens Lorenzo’s private safe—which requires his thumbprint or my override code—we control the offshore accounts in the Caymans."
"What about the servants?" Vivian asked, narrowing her eyes. "Some of them are too observant. Rosa has been with the family for forty years; she knows Lorenzo’s habits better than anyone."
"We pension them off next week," Damian dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Especially that housekeeper, Sophia Navarro. And her creepy little kid. Every time that kid looked at me, I felt like she could smell my intentions."
Outside the heavy oak door, standing silently in the narrow hallway with a silver dusting cloth in her hand, Sophia Navarro felt the blood drain completely from her face.
She had only come to return the spare linens to the linen closet, but every word had carried clearly through the heavy mahogany.
May you like
Damian had killed him. Damian and Vivian.
Sophia’s hands shook so violently she dropped the dusting cloth to the floor. She backed away slowly, her mind racing in a blind panic. She had to get Emma and run. If Damian knew she had heard them, they wouldn't just be pensioned off—they would end up at the bottom of the harbor right beside Lorenzo.
