Chapter 7 - The Grand Entrance
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The grand foyer was largely empty, save for a few armed guards smoking near the front entrance. When they saw the elevator doors open, and Matteo Rinaldi roll himself out wearing a tailored suit, the cigarettes literally dropped from their mouths.
One guard instinctively reached for his radio, but Matteo stopped him with a single, freezing look. The man swallowed hard, terrified, and slowly put his hands by his side.
Matteo didn't say a word. He pushed his chair forward, the wheels gliding smoothly over the polished Italian marble. Elena walked exactly three steps behind him, her face a completely unreadable mask.
They approached the massive, towering oak doors of the dining room. They were cracked open just enough to let the raucous sounds of the traitorous celebration bleed into the hall.
Matteo stopped just outside the doors.
Inside, Lorenzo was standing up, his glass raised, holding court. “And I say, the future belongs to those who have the strength to take it!” Lorenzo bellowed, drawing cheers from the sycophants at the table.
Elena’s hand hovered near the brass handle of the door, but she did not touch his wheelchair. This was his moment. This was his kingdom to reclaim.
Matteo placed his hands on the heavy wood of both doors. With a powerful, sudden shove, he pushed them wide open.
The heavy doors slammed against the walls with a thunderous CRACK that echoed over the music.
The string quartet instantly stopped playing, the cellist’s bow freezing mid-air.
One by one, the heads at the table snapped toward the entrance.
Lorenzo’s smug smile vanished, replaced by an expression of sheer, unadulterated horror. Celeste gasped loudly, her crystal champagne flute slipping from her manicured fingers and shattering into a hundred pieces on the marble floor.
No one moved. No one breathed.
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The laughter died a sudden, violent death.
Matteo Rinaldi sat in the doorway, framed by the light, looking like a demon summoned straight from hell to collect on a bloody debt.
