Chapter 16 - The Interrogation in the Cold Cellar
Beneath the wine cellars of the Rossi estate lay the foundation stones laid down in the nineteen-twenties.
Water dripped steadily from the vaulted ceiling into a rusted drain in the center of the concrete floor.
Tied to a heavy wooden chair under a single dangling incandescent bulb was one of Marcus Leone’s surviving gunmen.
His face was swollen, his tactical vest stripped away, leaving only a bloodstained undershirt.
Dominic stood in the shadows near the iron door, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows with methodical calm.
I stood beside him, having changed into black tactical cargo pants, combat boots, and a fitted Kevlar vest beneath a dark jacket.
The gold ring on my left hand gleamed dully under the dim yellow light.
"His name is Mateo," Vincenzo said, stepping forward with a leather dossier.
"He was Marcus’s lead driver for the Long Island extraction."
"He knows the exact layout of Pier 42."
Dominic walked up to the prisoner, his footsteps echoing ominously in the damp space.
Mateo lifted his bruised head, spitting a mouthful of blood onto Dominic’s polished leather shoes.
"Go to hell, Rossi," the man rasped, his swollen eyes filled with stubborn defiance.
"Marcus is going to feed your mother to the crabs, and then he's coming for your whore."
Before Dominic could move, I stepped out of the shadows.
I grabbed a pair of heavy iron pliers from the metal tray beside the chair.
Without a word, I slammed the blunt end of the pliers directly into Mateo’s fractured collarbone.
A high-pitched, agonizing shriek tore from his throat as he thrashed violently against the heavy hemp ropes.
"The next blow goes through your kneecap, Mateo," I whispered, leaning in until he could see the cold, unblinking hatred in my eyes.
"You think Dominic is the monster you need to fear tonight?"
"Dominic kills out of business."
"I kill for my mother."
Mateo gasped for air, his chest heaving, his arrogance completely shattered by the feral darkness in my gaze.
Dominic watched from the shadows, his arms crossed over his chest, a look of profound, dark satisfaction settling on his face.
"Where is the container placed?" I demanded, tapping the iron pliers lightly against his left knee.
"Pier... Pier 42 has three warehouses," Mateo stammered, sweat pouring down his pale face.
"The middle one... Warehouse B."
"Marcus has twenty mercenary contractors from Blackwood Security inside."
"They have thermal scopes, claymore mines on the primary doors, and heavy machine guns on the catwalks."
"And the shipping container?" I pressed, pressing the tool harder against his joint.
"Suspended from the overhead gantry crane!" he shouted, terrified of another strike.
"The release mechanism is wired to Marcus’s detonator."
"If the ledger isn't verified in ten minutes, or if he hits the panic switch, the cable releases."
"The container drops fifty feet into the water basin."
A cold shiver raced through my spine, but I didn't let my expression waver.
It was an almost impenetrable kill box.
If we rushed the warehouse, Marcus would drop the container before we could eliminate the snipers.
If we played by his rules, we would walk into a crossfire with zero leverage.
"Who provided the codes to our perimeter security?" Dominic asked, his deep voice slicing through the cellar like an executioner's blade.
Mateo swallowed hard, looking between Dominic and me with frantic eyes.
"I don't know the name!" he cried out.
"I swear to God, I don't know his name!"
"Marcus just received a text message an hour before the hit with the gate bypass codes and patrol schedules!"
"From a Rossi encrypted frequency!"
Dominic’s posture went completely rigid.
Vincenzo froze by the table, his hand hovering over the dossier.
A traitor inside the inner circle of the Rossi household.
Only four people had access to the master gate encryption: Dominic, Vincenzo, the head of security, and the family’s chief logistics officer.
"Vincenzo," Dominic said softly, not turning around.
"Don Rossi?" the old consigliere answered, his voice barely a whisper.
"Lock down the estate."
"No one leaves. No calls in or out."
"If anyone attempts to access the satellite relays before dawn, put a bullet through their skull."
"Understood," Vincenzo acknowledged, bowing his head before quickly exiting the cellar.
Dominic stepped up beside me, taking the iron pliers gently from my hand and placing them back on the metal tray.
He pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped a stray speck of blood from my cheek.
"You were magnificent," he whispered, his eyes dark with an intoxicating blend of reverence and desire.
"We have three hours until the deadline, Dominic," I said, leaning into his touch for a fleeting second.
"How do we beat a man who has rigged the entire pier to collapse?"
Dominic tossed the handkerchief onto the tray and drew his tactical blade from his belt.
May you like
"We don't play his game, Clara."
"We flood the board."
