Chapter 4 - THE INTERROGATION ROOM
The basement beneath the Moretti mansion smelled of old stone, sulfur, and damp earth.
It had been built during Prohibition.
Reinforced concrete walls three feet thick.
Soundproof.
No windows.
No mercy.
Two guards dragged Valentina Russo down the stone stairs.
Her high heels had been kicked away.
Her stockings were shredded at the knees.
Her green silk evening dress was torn along the zipper.
She was weeping now, but the tears were no longer delicate.
They were the frantic, choking sobs of a cornered rat.
They threw her into an iron chair bolted to the center of the floor.
She hit the metal with a bruised grunt.
Alessandro walked into the pool of yellow overhead light.
He had removed his ruined shirt.
A white pressure bandage was taped tightly across his left shoulder, seeping pink at the edges.
He wore a fresh black dress shirt, unbuttoned, sleeves rolled past his forearms.
His tattoos—the black dragon and the Latin cross of the Moretti lineage—showed dark against his skin.
I stood in the shadows by the concrete door.
My arms were crossed over my chest.
My damp hair clung to my neck.
I didn't speak.
I watched.
Valentina looked up, her mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks.
"Alessandro, please!" she begged, thrashing against the zip-ties binding her wrists.
"I didn't know about the sniper!"
"I swear on my mother’s soul!"
"Do not speak of mothers in this room," Alessandro said softly.
He walked to the metal workbench along the wall.
He picked up a slender, six-inch steel surgical probe.
He weighed it in his palm.
"Who gave you the garage codes, Valentina?"
"Marco!" she wept.
"Marco told me to keep you occupied in the library!"
"He said you were closing the logistics contract tomorrow morning!"
"He said if I didn't seduce you, our family would lose forty million dollars!"
Alessandro stepped closer.
His shoes made no sound on the concrete.
"You didn't just seduce me, Valentina."
"You led me to the west bedroom three weeks ago."
"You specifically asked for that room."
"Why?"
Valentina’s breath hitched.
Her eyes darted frantically toward the corner where I stood.
She swallowed hard.
"Answer him," I spoke from the shadows.
My voice was dead.
Steady as a flatlining heart monitor.
Valentina flinched at the sound of my voice.
"Marco wanted Sofia out of the way," she stammered.
"Why Sofia?" Alessandro roared.
He slammed his fist onto the iron armrest of her chair.
The metal groaned under the force.
"She doesn't touch the books!"
"She doesn't run the docks!"
"She is my wife!"
"She owns the land, Alessandro!" Valentina screamed, tears spraying from her eyes.
The room went dead silent.
The dripping of a water pipe in the corner was the only sound.
Alessandro froze.
He slowly straightened his posture.
"What did you say?"
"The West Side container terminal," Valentina wept, her chest heaving.
"The entire thirty-acre parcel on the Chicago River."
"Your father didn't buy that land twenty years ago, Alessandro."
"He leased it."
"From Sofia's grandfather."
I took a step forward into the light.
My head spun with sudden, violent vertigo.
"My grandfather died when I was six," I whispered.
"He was an accountant."
"He was the primary money launderer for the Outfit in 1980, Sofia," Valentina said, looking at me with raw, bitter envy.
"He owned the deeds to every warehouse from Racine Avenue to the rail yard."
"When he died, the trust was sealed in your mother's name."
"And when your mother died in that guest bedroom..."
Valentina looked back at Alessandro.
"The title passed entirely to Sofia."
"Marco found the unsealed probate records three months ago."
"If Sofia dies without a will, the land defaults to the city for public auction."
"And Marco has the municipal judges paid off to buy it for pennies."
Alessandro stood motionless.
The blood drained from his face until he looked like carved marble.
He turned his head slowly.
His amber eyes found mine.
For fourteen years, he had believed our marriage was a romantic match arranged by his father to unite two old families.
He had believed he was the protector.
The king who had given a modest girl an empire.
And now he realized the empire had been built on her soil all along.
Before he could speak, the concrete ceiling shuddered violently.
BOOM.
An explosion rocked the foundation.
Dust and mortar rained down onto the iron chair.
The emergency lights flickered, turned red, and began to wail.
Enzo’s voice crackled through the wall intercom, choked with panic:
"BOSS! WE’VE GOT CARS ON THE LAWN!"
"FOUR ARMORED ESCALADES!"
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"THEY BLEW THE IRON GATES WITH C4!"
"IT'S MARCO RUSSO!"
