Chapter 2 - The Interrogation in the Dark
The private basement level of the DeMarco Logistics tower wasn’t listed on any architectural blue prints. Originally built as a subterranean vault for grain storage in the late nineteenth century, it had been converted into a secure interrogation and holding facility during the syndicate wars of the 1990s.
The air down here was always fifty-four degrees, smelling of damp concrete and old iron.
Gabriel stood in the center of the reinforced concrete room, watching through a one-way mirror as two of his most trusted loyalists—men who had answered to his father before him—brought in Marcus, Vincent’s personal head of security. Marcus was battered, his lip split, his jacket torn from a brief, violent struggle in the underground parking garage twenty minutes earlier.
“Mr. DeMarco,” Marcus spat out, wiping blood from his chin as he was shoved into a steel chair bolted to the floor. “What is the meaning of this? Mr. Vincent will have your head on a pike for this insubordination before the wedding bells even ring.”
Gabriel walked out of the observation room and stepped into the holding cell. The heavy steel door slammed shut behind him with a dull, echoing boom.
“Vincent isn't here, Marcus,” Gabriel said, pulling up a metal folding chair and sitting down directly across from the security chief. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. “And by the time he finds out what’s happening down here, he’ll have bigger problems than my manners.”
Marcus sneered. “You’re throwing away your entire future over a fat girl who couldn’t file a spreadsheet without crying. Miss Kensington is going to be mistress of this entire empire. You’re committing suicide.”
Gabriel reached out, caught Marcus by the throat with one hand, and slammed him back against the chair with enough force to rattle the bolts in the concrete.
“Let’s talk about empires, Marcus,” Gabriel whispered, his face inches from the terrified guard's. “Let’s talk about why you accessed my private office at 11:42 p.m. on Wednesday. Let’s talk about the offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands registered under a shell company named Belladonna Maritime. And let’s talk about why my fiancée’s father, Damian Kensington, transferred four million dollars into your personal Swiss account thirty-six hours ago.”
Marcus’s eyes widened in sudden, absolute terror. The color drained from his face.
“I... I don't know what you’re talking about...”
“Evelyn knew,” Gabriel interrupted, his grip tightening. “That’s why you tried to kill her in her apartment. That’s why you sent two men to finish the job while Isabella stood outside the door and listened. You thought she was just an overweight assistant who couldn't run away fast enough. But she had already backed up every server log onto an encrypted flash drive.”
Gabriel pulled the small plastic drive from his pocket and held it up under the harsh fluorescent light.
“So here is your choice, Marcus,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping an octave into pure ice. “You can tell me the exact details of the wedding-day trap you and my uncle have set for Saturday, or I can hand you over to the federal task force that’s currently raiding your bank accounts. Pick wisely.”
Marcus stared at the flash drive, then at Gabriel’s unyielding eyes. The loyalty of a mercenary evaporated in the face of federal prison.
“It... it wasn't just us,” Marcus choked out, gasping for air as Gabriel eased his grip slightly. “It was the whole board. Vincent and Damian... they structured the merger so that the moment you sign the marriage contract at the altar on Saturday, Isabella becomes primary beneficiary with irrevocable voting rights over DeMarco Logistics. And the moment after the ceremony... on the yacht reception... the ship’s navigation was programmed to drift into international waters while an ‘unfortunate accident’ disposed of you.”
Gabriel’s heart hammered against his ribs. An assassination disguised as a boating accident, executed precisely five minutes after legal control of his entire empire transferred to his bride.
“And Evelyn?” Gabriel demanded. “Why did she have to die?”
“Because she caught the discrepancy in the vendor payments three days early,” Marcus whimpered. “She was running an independent audit on the maritime security funds. She knew before any of us realized she was looking.”
May you like
Gabriel stood up slowly. He smoothed down his cuffs, his expression turning into a mask of pure, unadulterated vengeance.
“Marcus,” Gabriel said quietly, turning to the guard at the door. “Keep him down here. Don’t let him speak to a lawyer until Sunday morning.”
