Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
By Saturday afternoon, the storm had completely cleared, leaving behind a brilliant, crisp October sky that cast long shadows across the rolling lawns of the Oyster Bay estate.
I sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table in the formal dining room. My hearing had stabilized completely over the past twelve hours; the world was no longer a flat, silent painting, but a rich, complex symphony of sounds—the distant rustle of oak leaves in the autumn wind, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, and the soft, hurried footsteps of Sophia moving through the pantry.
The double doors to the dining room opened, and Luca stepped inside, escorting a very nervous-looking individual.
It wasn't Vincent Rossi. It was Rossi’s primary accountant and fixer, a slick, sharp-eyed man named Marcus Vance who wore an impeccably tailored Italian suit and carried a leather briefcase like a shield.
"Mr. Duca," Marcus said, his voice carrying a slight, nervous tremor as he stepped into the room. He cleared his throat, trying to project an air of corporate confidence that didn't match the sweat beading on his forehead. "Mr. Rossi sends his regards. He was... surprised to receive your message requesting an emergency meeting."
I didn't invite him to sit. I simply sat at the head of the table, my hands resting calmly on the polished wood, listening to the subtle hitch in his breathing and the nervous tapping of his ring against the leather briefcase.
"Was he?" I asked, my voice smooth and measured.
Marcus blinked, his eyes darting around the spacious room before fixing back on my face. "Well, yes. Given your... situation with your hearing, Mr. Rossi usually prefers to communicate through your board intermediaries. He didn't realize you were holding in-person summits."
"My situation has recently improved, Marcus," I said.
I picked up a silver teaspoon from the table and tapped it gently against the rim of my porcelain teacup. The clear, bright ting echoed through the silent room.
Marcus flinched at the sound. He didn't know why, of course—he assumed I was just being dramatic.
"Mr. Rossi is a busy man," Marcus pressed on, adjusting his silk tie. "If this is about the Brooklyn harbor logistics contracts, he authorized me to tell you that the Marcone family is willing to offer a ten percent markup on the joint-venture shipping fees, provided your board signs off on the transfer by Monday morning."
I leaned back in my chair, studying the fixer with cold detachment. For three years, men like Vincent Rossi had treated me like a ghost in my own house—a deaf, broken figurehead whose signature could be bought by corrupt physicians and rubber-stamped by compromised board members.
"Tell me, Marcus," I said softly, my voice carrying clearly across the table without needing to raise a decibel. "Does Mr. Rossi actually believe that a ten percent markup compensates for three years of corporate espionage and medical poisoning?"
Marcus froze. The color drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse under fluorescence.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Marcus stammered, taking a half-step backward toward the closed double doors.
"Of course you don't," I replied, standing up slowly from the table. I walked around the mahogany surface until I stood just a few feet away from him. I could hear the frantic, jackhammer rhythm of his pulse pounding in his carotid artery.
"You tell Vincent Rossi something for me," I whispered, leaning in close so he could hear every syllable clearly. "Tell him that the Duca family is very particular about its medicine. And tell him that on Monday morning at 8:00 AM, I am going to pay him a personal visit. And unlike my doctor... I won't need an interpreter."
Marcus didn't answer. He turned on his heel and practically sprinted toward the doors, wrenching them open and disappearing down the hallway as fast as his Italian leather shoes could carry him.
May you like
Luca stepped out from the shadows near the sideboard, a grim smile playing on his lips. "He'll run straight to Rossi."
"Good," I said, walking over to the tall windows to watch the sunlight glinting off the lawn. "Let them prepare. It's much more interesting when they're waiting for you."
