Chapter 3 - The Interrogation
The rain pounded against the corrugated iron roof of the abandoned slaughterhouse on 8th Street. Inside, the air was thick with the metallic smell of rust, damp cement, and raw fear.
Malcolm Croft was tied securely to a heavy wooden chair beneath a single, harsh overhead spotlight. His expensive bespoke tuxedo was ruined, dirtied by the damp floor, his silver hair disheveled. Standing two feet away, pacing back and forth in high heels, was his daughter Vivien. Her elaborate lace wedding dress was torn at the hem, her face pale and streaked with mascara.
"This is an outrage!" Malcolm roared into the shadows of the warehouse. "Arthur Romano! Show yourself! You cannot hold the head of the Croft family hostage! The commission will tear you apart for this!"
The heavy steel door at the end of the warehouse creaked open.
Arthur Romano walked out of the darkness. He had changed into a dark charcoal suit, his hair combed back, his face an unreadable mask of stone. Behind him walked Leo Barnes and four towering Romano enforcers armed with automatic rifles.
Vivien gasped, stepping back against her father’s chair. "Arthur! Thank God! Tell your men to untie my father! This whole thing is a misunderstanding—"
Arthur didn't even look at her. He pulled up a metal folding chair, set it down directly in front of Malcolm Croft, and sat down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring into the old man’s eyes with a cold, predatory stillness.
"Do you know where I just came from, Malcolm?" Arthur asked, his voice smooth and soft, like velvet hiding razor wire.
Malcolm glared at him, trying to maintain his aristocratic dignity. "I don't care where you came from! You abandoned my daughter at the altar for some low-class diner waitress!"
"I came from my private medical facility," Arthur continued as if Malcolm hadn't spoken at all. "Where the mother of my unborn child is currently fighting to keep our baby alive. She’s seven months pregnant, Malcolm. And she almost died because she ran through a rainstorm to stop me from drinking a cup of wine."
Arthur reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and tossed it into Malcolm’s lap.
"That is the toxicology report from Dr. Marcus Vance," Arthur said. "The ceremonial wine you brought to the cathedral contained eighty milligrams of liquid digitalis. Enough to stop a horse's heart in three minutes."
Vivien’s breath hitched. She looked at her father in shock. "Father... what is he talking about?"
Malcolm’s jaw tightened, but he didn't blink. "It’s a forgery! A cheap trick cooked up by your mob doctor to give you an excuse to back out of our marriage treaty!"
"Don't lie to me, old man!" Arthur roared, snapping standing up and grabbing Malcolm by the lapels of his suit, pulling the chair up onto two legs until their faces were inches apart. "Your own baker’s assistant heard you giving the order in your office two days ago! Chloe heard you! You didn't want an alliance, Malcolm. You wanted my territory, my shipping routes, and my head on a spike!"
"And what if I did?!" Malcolm spat, dropping his mask of denial, his eyes burning with deep, ancient hatred. "The Romano family has ruled Chicago for thirty years! Your father took everything from us! You think I was going to hand my daughter over to you and let you absorb the Croft syndicate? You’re a dog, Arthur! A ruthless, arrogant dog!"
"Father, shut up!" Vivien screamed, bursting into hysterical tears. "Arthur, please! I didn't know! I swear to you on my mother’s grave, I didn't know he put poison in the cup! I thought we were just getting married!"
Arthur released Malcolm’s suit, shoving the chair back onto all four legs with a heavy thud. He looked at Vivien. Her fear was genuine. She was vain, ambitious, and cruel, but she wasn't a murderer. She had been a pawn in her father’s desperate bid for total control.
"I know you didn't know, Vivien," Arthur said quietly. "If I thought you were involved, you wouldn't be standing on your own two feet right now."
Arthur turned his back on Malcolm and walked toward Leo. "Is the commission online?"
Leo held up a heavy satellite tablet. On the screen were five encrypted video feeds showing the faces of the most powerful syndicate bosses in the Midwest. They had been watching the entire interrogation through a live camera feed.
Arthur took the tablet and looked directly into the lens.
"You heard him," Arthur told the syndicate heads. "Malcolm Croft admitted to poisoning a ceremonial wedding cup, breaking the truce, and attempting to assassinate a sitting Don. By the laws of the Chicago Commission, his life and his territory are forfeited."
On the screen, the oldest boss, Don Carmine of Detroit, slowly nodded his head. "The proof is absolute, Arthur. The Croft family has lost its seat. You have full authority to settle the debt as you see fit. The Commission will not interfere."
The video feeds went black.
Malcolm’s face went completely gray. The reality of his situation finally hit him. He had gambled his family’s entire legacy on a single cup of poison, and he had lost.
"Arthur... wait," Malcolm stuttered, his voice suddenly small and trembling. "We can negotiate! I’ll hand over the docklands! I’ll sign over the construction contracts! Just let me take Vivien and leave the country!"
Arthur handed the tablet back to Leo. He walked toward the exit of the warehouse, pausing at the threshold without looking back.
"You tried to kill my wife, Malcolm," Arthur said softly, the word wife slipping from his lips naturally for the very first time. "And you almost killed my child. There are no negotiations for that."
May you like
Arthur stepped out into the rain.
"Leo," Arthur said as the steel doors closed behind him, leaving Malcolm’s desperate screams echoing inside. "Clean it up. Then take control of every Croft property in the city before sunrise."
