Chapter 8
The confession hit the cold concrete walls of the basement like a detonating bomb. The heavy, oppressive silence that followed was broken only by Corinne’s pathetic, ragged sobs. The capos standing by the door shifted uncomfortably, their hands drifting toward their weapons, realizing that the entire political structure of their syndicate had just been fundamentally shattered.
Alistair did not react immediately. The charming, handsome face remained perfectly still, a mask of unyielding, terrifying granite. His chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath. The revelation that the woman sitting in front of him was part of a family that had assassinated the mother of his child—and then infiltrated his home under the guise of an engagement—was a betrayal so profound it demanded an apocalyptic response.
"You knew," Alistair whispered. His voice was a low, vibrating hum that seemed to chill the very air. "You knew they murdered my wife. And you came into my house. You wore my ring. And you poured freezing water... over the child your family made an orphan."
"I was terrified!" Corinne shrieked, desperately straining against the restraints binding her to the metal chair. Her fair skin was blotchy and pale. "My father said he would kill me if I didn't play along! I didn't want to hurt Sadie! I was just stressed! The pressure of lying to you every day... it was driving me insane!"
"You tortured a four-year-old child... to relieve your stress," Alistair murmured, his cold, intimidating eyes narrowing into lethal slits.
He slowly stood up from the wooden chair. The raw, deeply masculine power of his frame seemed to expand in the small room.
"Boss," the lead capo said cautiously. "If the Vale syndicate orchestrated the assassination, they are guilty of high treason against the Commission. We have grounds for immediate, total war."
"We do not need the Commission's permission for this," Alistair stated, his American accent sharp and absolute. He looked down at his tattooed hands, clenching them into tight fists. "This is not business. This is blood."
"Alistair, please!" Corinne begged, her voice hoarse. "I told you the truth! I gave you my father! You promised me mercy!"
"I promised you nothing," Alistair corrected softly. He turned his back on her, walking toward the steel door. "You are going to sit in this chair, Corinne. You are going to sit here in the dark, and you are going to listen."
"Listen to what?!" she screamed in absolute panic.
"To the sound of your family's empire burning to ash," Alistair replied without looking back. He turned his attention to his capos. "Mobilize every soldier on the payroll. I want the Vale compound surrounded by midnight. I want every warehouse, every front business, and every safe house they own reduced to rubble. No survivors. Leave no one breathing who carries her last name."
The sheer magnitude of the order sent a surge of dark, adrenaline-fueled loyalty through the capos.
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"Consider it done, Mr. Montelli," the lead capo nodded firmly.
Alistair walked out of the basement, the heavy steel door slamming shut and plunging Corinne into total darkness. Her screams echoed faintly through the reinforced concrete as Alistair ascended the stairs, returning to the bright, cinematic light of his mansion. The war had officially begun, but his first priority was upstairs, waiting in the sanctuary of the master suite.
