CHAPTER 2 — The Man Who Entered His Own Funeral
CHAPTER 2 — The Man Who Entered His Own Funeral
The first convoy arrived in less than four minutes.
Black SUVs rolled silently through the rear service entrance instead of the front gate. Victor Moretti never repeated predictable patterns—not after twenty years of surviving a world where habits got men buried.
Marco DeLuca stepped out first.
Six foot four, gray suit, expression carved from granite.
He had been Victor's right hand since they were barely old enough to shave, and during all those years, Victor had only heard genuine panic in Marco's voice twice.
This was the third.
"You said everyone," Marco whispered through his earpiece.
"I meant everyone."
Within seconds, thirty heavily armed men disappeared into the estate like shadows.
Victor remained hidden behind the cypress trees.
He never looked away from Isabella.
She checked her watch.
7:13.
The assassin standing beside the sedan tapped his fingers twice against the roof.
A signal.
Marco crouched beside Victor.
"The bomb squad?"
Victor shook his head.
"No."
Marco frowned.
"No?"
"If they know we're coming, they'll trigger it early."
He handed Marco Sophia's phone.
"Listen."
Marco played the recording once.
Then again.
His face slowly lost all color.
"Madonna..."
Victor's wife.
There was no denying the voice.
No possibility of manipulation.
Every syllable carried years of intimacy Marco himself recognized.
"I'll kill them."
Victor stopped him with a raised hand.
"Not yet."
Marco stared.
"They tried to murder you."
Victor's eyes never blinked.
"I want to know who gave them permission."
Marco understood immediately.
This wasn't an affair.
It wasn't just betrayal.
Someone had promised Isabella she could inherit the Moretti empire.
Someone powerful.
Someone inside.
Sophia returned unexpectedly.
She was holding her father's hand.
Antonio—the elderly gardener—looked terrified.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, lowering his head. "She wouldn't stay inside."
Victor knelt in front of the little girl.
"You saved my life."
Sophia shrugged.
"My daddy says heroes don't wait until adults believe them."
Antonio looked horrified.
"Sophia!"
But Victor smiled for the first time that morning.
"When this is over..."
He removed the gold watch from his wrist.
"...this belongs to you."
Sophia blinked.
"It's too shiny."
Victor laughed softly.
"It still tells time."
She accepted it with both hands as though it were made of glass.
Another vehicle approached.
Not one of Victor's.
A silver Mercedes.
Marco quietly cursed.
"Who is that?"
Victor recognized it instantly.
Senator Richard Coleman.
One of the most influential politicians in Florida.
A man who publicly condemned organized crime while privately accepting envelopes thick enough to buy silence.
The senator climbed out.
Isabella greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.
Then the assassin opened the trunk.
Inside rested a leather briefcase.
Coleman peeked inside.
Bundles of cash.
Stacks upon stacks.
Then another case.
Documents.
Victor narrowed his eyes.
Marco whispered,
"That's not payment."
"No."
"What is it?"
Victor answered quietly.
"My death certificate."
The senator smiled.
He actually smiled.
Isabella laughed at something he said.
The assassin lit a cigarette.
Everything about the scene suggested confidence.
No fear.
No hesitation.
They truly believed Victor Moretti would walk out of the villa within seconds.
Get into the car.
Drive away.
Disappear forever.
Victor turned toward Marco.
"Bring me Luca."
Marco hesitated.
"The hacker?"
"The real one."
Three minutes later, a skinny man wearing glasses hurried through the garden carrying a laptop still connected to two battery packs.
"What happened?"
Victor pointed toward the driveway.
"I need every camera."
Luca connected to the estate security network.
His fingers flew across the keyboard.
"I have the driveway."
"The garage."
"Done."
"The guest house."
"Done."
"The rear fence."
Luca suddenly froze.
"Boss..."
Victor looked over.
"What?"
"There are six camera feeds missing."
Marco frowned.
"Technical failure?"
Luca slowly shook his head.
"No."
"They weren't disconnected."
"They were deleted."
Victor felt something colder than anger.
Preparation.
Someone had erased the exact cameras that would capture the assassination.
Whoever planned this knew the security system.
Only five people possessed that level of access.
Victor.
Marco.
The head of security.
His personal assistant.
Isabella.
Marco looked sick.
"It's bigger than we thought."
Victor nodded.
"Much bigger."
His phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered without speaking.
Static.
Then a distorted voice.
"You should have gotten into the car."
Victor remained silent.
"We accounted for every variable."
A pause.
"Except one child."
Click.
The line went dead.
Marco looked at him.
"What did they say?"
Victor slowly lowered the phone.
"They knew exactly where I was supposed to die."
He turned back toward the driveway.
The assassin glanced at his watch.
Impatient now.
Isabella reached for her own phone.
Victor's phone rang at the exact same second.
Her name appeared on the screen.
Isabella ❤️
Victor smiled—a cold, unreadable smile.
He answered.
"My love," Isabella said sweetly, "where are you?"
Victor looked straight at her from behind the trees only fifty yards away.
"You'll see me soon."
Before she could answer, he ended the call.
Then he turned to Marco.
"Open every gate."
Marco looked confused.
"You want them inside?"
Victor's eyes hardened into steel.
"If they came here expecting my funeral..."
May you like
He slowly drew the pistol from beneath his jacket.
"...let's make sure someone leaves in a coffin."
