Chapter 17 - THE CATSKILLS ESTATE
The winding mountain roads leading up to the abandoned Viscari estate in upstate New York were covered in a thick, eerie layer of late-autumn fog. The iron gates, rusted and twisted off their hinges, loomed out of the mist like the jaws of a prehistoric monster waiting to swallow us whole.
Adrien killed the headlights of the SUV a mile back, navigating the steep incline using night-vision optics. In the back seat, Viktor and two senior enforcers checked their weapons with smooth, practiced efficiency.
"Main house is secured by motion sensors and perimeter tripwires," Viktor whispered, tapping the digital tactical map on his console. "Thermal imaging shows at least six heat signatures inside the main ballroom. No civilian presence."
"My father never did anything without an audience," Adrien muttered, shifting the vehicle into park behind a thick clump of pine trees. "Stay close, Lena. Do not leave my side."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I replied, chambering a round in my submachine gun.
We moved through the freezing mountain air in absolute silence, hugging the stone walls of the sprawling gothic mansion. The estate looked like something out of a gothic nightmare—shuttered windows, overgrown ivy crawling up crumbling brick facades, and a heavy, oppressive silence hanging over the grounds.
Adrien bypassed the main entrance, leading us toward an old service cellar door that he remembered from his childhood. With a quiet snip of a wire cutter, he disabled the electronic alarm relay and pushed the heavy oak door open.
The basement smelled of damp earth, old wine, and burning cedar. We crept up the narrow wooden staircase one by one until we reached the grand hallway leading directly to the main ballroom.
Through the carved double doors, a single roaring fireplace cast long, flickering shadows across the polished marble floor.
And sitting in a high-backed leather armchair facing the hearth, holding a glass of amber whiskey, was an elderly man with sharp, familiar features and piercing dark eyes that mirrored Adrien's own.
Carlo Viscari.
"I wondered when you boys would finally show up," Carlo said without turning around, his voice raspy and carrying the unmistakable weight of unyielding authority. "You always were late, Adrien. Even as a boy."
Adrien stepped through the double doors, raising his weapon with absolute, unwavering precision. "You're dead, Carlo. I put you in the ground."
Carlo chuckled softly, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before finally turning his chair to face us. He looked older, scarred, and weathered by time, but the terrifying aura of absolute control hadn't faded an inch.
"Death is just a legal technicality, my boy," Carlo smiled coldly. "Especially when you own half the coroners in New York State."
"You ruined countless lives," I stepped out from behind Adrien, my voice ringing clear and steady through the cavernous ballroom. "You framed innocent people, tore families apart, and built an empire on lies."
Carlo’s eyes shifted from Adrien to me, a flicker of genuine curiosity crossing his weathered face. "Ah... Evelyn’s daughter. You have her fire, girl. I’ll give you that. But you understand nothing about how the world works."
"I understand enough to know your time is up," Adrien said, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger.
May you like
Before Adrien could fire, Carlo raised a small, encrypted remote control from his lap. "I wouldn't do that, Adrien. Because the moment your bullet hits my chest, the smart-contract I set up will automatically release every single financial wire, blackmail file, and political payoff directly to every major news outlet in the world—destroying not just my legacy, but yours, your mother's, and every asset the syndicate owns."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room. We were checkmated.
