“Débil.
Al igual que tu padre…”
“I’m not killing you, Adrian,” I said, my voice dead and cold.
“Death is too merciful for what you’ve done.
You’re going to spend the rest of your natural life in a dark, concrete cell three hundred feet beneath our mountain compound in Calabria.
Nunca volverás a ver el sol.
Nunca escucharás una voz humana que no sea una guardia que te traiga pan y agua.
Y cada día, recordarás que el heredero ‘débil’ de Duca te puso allí”.
Me volví hacia Rocco.
“Drag him out.
Seal him in the transport.”
“With pleasure, Boss,” Rocco said, stepping forward with two men and hauling the screaming, cursing Adrian off the floor.
IX.
A Dynasty Reclaimed
Three days later, the rain had finally stopped over Lombardy.
A crisp, cool autumn sun washed over the grounds of the Duca estate.
The front foyer was already under reconstruction, teams of workers quietly removing the damaged marble and shattered glass under the strict supervision of my security detail.
I stood on the back terrace overlooking the vast rolling gardens.
A lo lejos, Mia estaba corriendo a través del césped verde con una nueva chaqueta amarilla, riendo mientras perseguía a un cachorro golden retriever que Rocco le había comprado.
