Chapter 5 - The Interrogation
The damp, frigid air of the underground warehouse reeked of diesel fuel and old iron.
Vanessa Laurent sat tied to a metal chair in the center of a concrete ring, illuminated only by a single swinging bulb. Her ivory coat was covered in black grime, her hair was a tangled mess, and her mascara was smeared across her cheeks in dark tracks.
The heavy steel door creaked open.
Dante stepped into the light. He had removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt, revealing the intricate mafia tattoos that snaked up his muscular forearms. Behind him walked Marco, the family driver, and Leo, Dante’s primary underboss.
Vanessa lifted her head, letting out a sob of relief. "Dante! Oh God, Dante, thank heaven! Tell these animals to untie me! They dragged me like a criminal—"
Dante didn't say a word. He walked over to a workbench, picked up an eight-inch steel utility blade, and examined the edge.
Vanessa’s voice died in her throat. Her eyes bulged. "D-Dante?"
"Ten months ago," Dante began, his voice calm, terrifyingly conversational, "my home was an impenetrable sanctuary. My wife was smiling. She painted in the sunroom. She baked bread on Sundays."
He turned, the knife gleaming under the pale bulb.
"Then you arrived," Dante said, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. "Recommended by our European associates as an elite corporate strategist. You helped me secure the shipping docks. You organized our supply chains. You made yourself indispensable."
"I did!" Vanessa wept. "I made you millions, Dante! I saved your empire!"
"And while you were doing that," Dante said, stopping right in front of her, "you began isolating my wife. You intercepted her mail. You changed the security codes on my mansion. You fired the loyal staff who had known Emily since she was a girl, replacing them with your own mercenaries."
Dante leaned down, resting both hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her. "And yesterday, you invited Vincent Moretti into my living room. Tell me why, Vanessa. Tell me why, before I begin taking your fingers off one by one."
"He made me do it!" Vanessa screamed, thrashing against the ropes. "Moretti approached me three months ago! He knew you were distracted by the territorial disputes! He offered me twenty million dollars and forty percent of the northern shipping routes if I helped him secure leverage over you!"
"Leverage," Dante repeated, the word cold and venomous. "You mean my children."
"He wanted Emily dead!" Vanessa confessed, the hysterical truth spilling out like bile. "He wanted to stage her death as an accidental fall, take the babies if they survived, and blackmail you into surrendering Chicago! But I didn't want the babies to die, Dante! I just wanted her gone! I wanted you to sign the custody papers so I could raise your heirs! I wanted to be your queen!"
Dante stared at her for a long, silent moment. The sheer depravity of her ambition made his stomach turn.
"You thought," Dante whispered, "that after you tortured the woman I love, starved her, stripped her of her dignity, and forced her onto her knees in rags... that I would make you my queen?"
Vanessa swallowed hard, tears pouring down her face. "You ignored her calls, Dante! You chose to stay with me at the Drake! You let me wear her jewelry! You didn't care about her!"
Those words struck Dante like a physical blow. Because as vile as Vanessa was, she was speaking the brutal, unforgiving truth. He *had* ignored the calls. He *had* allowed himself to be distracted by war, power, and hubris.
He was the monster who had left the gate open for the wolves.
Dante stood up straight. He tossed the knife onto the concrete floor; it clattered loudly in the silence.
"Leo," Dante said, turning away.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Call the federal authorities," Dante commanded.
Leo blinked in shock. "The feds, Boss? We don't deal with feds."
"We do tonight," Dante said, his voice flat. "Hand over Vanessa Laurent, along with the encrypted financial records in her apartment. They contain all the bank accounts Moretti used for human trafficking and money laundering in the east district. She will spend the rest of her natural life in a maximum-security federal penitentiary, in solitary confinement, where no one will ever look at her face or hear her voice again."
"No! Dante, shoot me! Just shoot me!" Vanessa shrieked, knowing that life in a concrete cell was far worse than a quick bullet. "Don't send me there! Dante!"
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Dante didn't look back. As he walked toward the exit, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his head of intelligence.
"Find Vincent Moretti," Dante ordered, his voice echoing with absolute death. "Find every safe house, every warehouse, every associate tied to his name. By sunrise, I want him on his knees."
