Chapter 8 - The Proxy
A massive black tactical helicopter descended slowly through the pouring rain.
Its blinding searchlights swept across the burning wreckage of the shipyard, illuminating the absolute slaughter I had caused.
The sheer wind force from the dual rotors threatened to knock me off my feet.
I kept my rifle firmly pressed against the back of Victoria's head, refusing to break my stance.
"Is this the Irish cartel coming to claim their child?" I shouted over the deafening noise.
Victoria laughed again, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the wet asphalt.
"Declan Vance doesn't own a military gunship, you idiot," she sneered.
"I told you, Roman, I am just an employee following orders."
The helicopter touched down gently on the only remaining clear patch of concrete on the docks.
The side door slid open smoothly on automated tracks.
Four heavily armed soldiers stepped out, but they didn't raise their weapons toward me.
Instead, they formed two perfect, disciplined lines, standing at absolute attention.
A man stepped out of the cabin and walked slowly down the metal ramp.
He was wearing a bespoke, charcoal-gray suit that looked completely immune to the raging storm.
He carried a silver-handled walking cane, moving with the quiet, terrifying elegance of a true king.
I lowered my weapon, my hands suddenly shaking uncontrollably.
I hadn't seen that silver cane in seventeen years.
The man walked into the light of the burning tactical vans.
It was my father, Vincent Duca.
He was supposed to be dead, buried in a closed casket after a horrific assassination that had forced me to take the throne at twenty-one.
Vincent looked around at the destroyed vehicles and the bodies of the mercenaries.
He looked at me, a genuine smile of fatherly pride spreading across his weathered face.
"You handled the defense grid perfectly, my boy," Vincent praised warmly.
He walked over to Victoria, who was still kneeling on the ground in front of me.
"You failed your objective, Victoria," Vincent said softly.
Before she could even beg for her life, my father drew a silver pistol from his coat and shot her point-blank in the chest.
Victoria collapsed onto the pavement, dead before she even realized she had been betrayed.
Vincent holstered his weapon and opened his arms wide to me.
"I had to fake my death to build a shadow empire entirely off the grid," my father explained.
"I orchestrated this entire night to test your strength, and you have proven yourself worthy."
May you like
He stepped closer, placing a warm, heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Bring the children out, Roman, and take your rightful place by my side."
