Chapter 5 - The Interrogation
The basement of the Romano estate was nothing like the luxurious art gallery upstairs. It was a cold, brutalist bunker of exposed concrete, bright fluorescent lights, and the metallic tang of adrenaline and fear.
Victor stood near the center of the room, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded muscles and faint scars from old knife wounds. Two bound Moretti thugs were tied to metal chairs, their faces bloodied and bruised, while Dante stood guard with a shotgun resting casually against his shoulder.
When I walked down the metal stairs, Victor’s head snapped up. His eyes scanned me from head to toe, checking for injuries. When he saw I was unharmed, the terrifying intensity in his face shifted into something dangerously quiet.
“You came out of the room,” Victor said, his voice dangerously low as he walked toward me.
“They were breaking through my door,” I fired back, refusing to shrink away from him. “What was I supposed to do? Sit there and knit while they came to collect my bounty?”
Marcus chuckled softly from the doorway. “Boss, she didn't just stay in the room. She took out the first guy with an iron lamp base and almost stole his gun.”
Victor stopped inches from me, his gray eyes searching my face. A slow, dangerous smile curved the corner of his mouth—not a warm smile, but the smile of a general who had just discovered his conscript was a berserker.
“You never cease to amaze me, Dora,” he murmured, lifting a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from my forehead.
He turned back to the two bound men, his expression instantly freezing back into absolute ice.
“Now,” Victor said, stepping in front of the panicked thugs. “Let’s talk about Marco Moretti. Who authorized the hit on her?”
“F-fuck off, Romano,” the bruised thug spat, blood dripping onto his chin. “Marco wants her head on a spike. You crossed a line at the Aster Hotel. You humiliated the family.”
Victor didn't raise his voice. He didn't lose his temper. He simply nodded to Dante.
Dante stepped forward, pulling a heavy pair of electrician’s pliers from his belt.
“Wait!” the second thug shrieked, thrashing against his ties. “It wasn't just Marco! It was Anthony! Anthony Moretti funded the bounty through offshore accounts in the Caymans! He’s setting up a meet tonight at the North End shipping docks to pay off the contract killers!”
Victor paused, his eyes narrowing. “The shipping docks. Which pier?”
“Pier 4,” the man sobbed. “Please, Boss—we talked! Let us go!”
Victor looked back at me, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Marcus, lock these two in the holding cells. Dante, prep the team. We’re going to pay Anthony Moretti a visit.”
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“Victor, no,” I said, stepping forward and grabbing his arm. “That’s a war. If you go down there guns blazing, there’s no turning back.”
“Dora,” Victor said, covering my hand with his own. “There was no turning back the second Marco Moretti put a price on your head. They declared war when they decided my world was open season. Now watch me end it.”
