Chapter 2 - The Name Hidden Inside the Driver’s Coat
The name on the paper stayed in my mind.
Not because I recognized it.
Because I didn’t.
And that was impossible.
I knew every person who worked inside my house.
Every employee.
Every guard.
Every business partner.
Every enemy.
I knew the names of men who wanted me dead before they even admitted it to themselves.
But the name written inside Enzo’s coat belonged to someone who should not have existed.
The fake driver stood beside my Mercedes, holding the small piece of paper between his fingers.
I watched him carefully from behind the stone column.
He didn’t look like a professional assassin.
That was what made him dangerous.
Professional killers understood fear.
They expected resistance.
They prepared for violence.
This man looked like someone who believed everything had already been planned perfectly.
He thought he was safe.
He thought nobody was watching.
He thought he would drive away with my life in the back seat.
He was wrong.
Very wrong.
I slowly reached behind me and touched Emma’s shoulder.
She looked up.
Her eyes were wide.
I placed one finger against my lips.
She nodded.
The child who had saved my life understood silence better than most adults I had known.
The stranger folded the paper.
He placed it back inside Enzo’s coat.
Then he looked toward the garage entrance.
Toward the door.
Toward the place where I had been standing only minutes earlier.
He expected me to walk through there.
He expected Enzo to open the door.
He expected everything to happen exactly as planned.
That was when I noticed something else.
The man wasn’t alone.
I heard it.
A small sound.
Almost invisible.
A radio signal.
Someone was communicating with him.
The fake driver touched the side of his ear.
“Still nothing,” he whispered.
A pause.
Then:
“No. He hasn’t left yet.”
My blood turned cold.
He wasn’t improvising.
Someone was waiting outside.
Someone knew I was supposed to leave.
Someone knew my schedule.
Someone knew Enzo’s routine.
Someone knew exactly when I would walk toward that car.
I looked at Sophia.
She had heard it too.
Her face became pale.
“Mr. Duca…”
Her voice was barely audible.
I turned toward her.
“How much do you know?”
She looked down.
That answer told me everything.
“Enough to be afraid,” she whispered.
I hated that answer.
Not because she was hiding something.
Because I understood it.
Fear had been living inside my house before I noticed.
I had spent years protecting this mansion from enemies outside the gates.
I never considered the possibility that the danger had already been eating through the walls.
I looked back at the fake driver.
“What did Emma see?”
Sophia’s eyes moved toward her daughter.
Emma was still holding onto my jacket.
“She woke up early yesterday.”
“Why?”
“She couldn’t sleep.”
Sophia swallowed.
“She heard voices near the garage.”
“Whose voices?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Marco’s.”
The name hit harder than I expected.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
Marco.
My right hand.
My brother in everything except blood.
The man who knew my father’s last words.
The man who stood beside me when I buried him.
The man who had protected my family before I even became the head of it.
I wanted to reject it.
I wanted to tell myself Sophia was mistaken.
That Emma misunderstood.
That there was another explanation.
But then I remembered the way Marco froze when Emma stopped me.
Half a second.
A tiny reaction.
A mistake from a man who believed he never made mistakes.
I looked back at the stranger.
The fake driver was still searching through Enzo’s belongings.
He found a small wallet.
Opened it.
Checked inside.
Then threw it aside.
He wasn’t looking for money.
He wasn’t looking for identification.
He was searching for something specific.
Information.
A message.
A key.
Something Enzo had been carrying.
I looked at the injured driver.
Slowly, I moved toward him.
The fake driver was facing away.
I stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
My shoes touched the concrete floor.
The stranger turned.
Too late.
I grabbed his wrist before he could reach inside his jacket.
His eyes widened.
For the first time that morning, someone inside my house looked afraid.
I twisted his arm.
The paper fell from his hand.
He tried to attack.
Fast.
Trained.
But not trained enough.
People often believed power came from weapons.
They were wrong.
Power came from knowing exactly when someone was going to move.
I pushed him against the Mercedes.
The car shook.
Emma covered her mouth.
Sophia pulled her daughter behind her.
The stranger stared at me.
Then he smiled.
Not because he wasn’t scared.
Because he knew something I didn’t.
“You’re too late,” he said.
I tightened my grip.
“Who sent you?”
He didn’t answer.
“Who?”
The smile disappeared.
“You really don’t know.”
I leaned closer.
“Know what?”
He looked toward the paper on the ground.
Then toward Emma.
And something changed in his face.
Recognition.
Not of me.
Of her.
The stranger looked at the little girl.
“She wasn’t supposed to be here.”
My hand tightened.
“What did you say?”
He laughed quietly.
“She wasn’t supposed to see anything.”
The garage became silent.
Even the man who was pretending to be fearless looked nervous now.
Because he had said too much.
I bent down and picked up the paper.
The handwriting was old.
The ink was faded.
Only one line was visible.
A name.
And beneath it, a date.
I read it once.
Then again.
My chest tightened.
Because the name belonged to someone I had buried twelve years ago.
Someone whose death had changed my entire family.
Someone whose funeral I personally attended.
I looked at the fake driver.
“Where did you get this?”
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“Answer me.”
Still nothing.
Then his eyes moved past me.
Toward the garage door.
Not toward an escape route.
Toward someone arriving.
I turned.
The electronic lock on the basement door flashed.
Green.
Someone had entered the code.
The same code only four people knew.
The door handle moved.
Slowly.
The person outside didn’t knock.
They didn’t need permission.
Because whoever was coming in believed this house still belonged to them.
May you like
The door opened.
And the first thing I saw was the face of the person who had just betrayed me.
