Chapter 5
The heavy metal door of the basement interrogation room groaned open. Dominic Moretti was strapped tightly to a bolted steel chair under the blinding glare of a single overhead halogen lamp. His tailored suit was torn at the shoulder, his silk tie discarded on the concrete floor. The fair, rosy flush of his skin had been replaced by a pallid, sweating mask of absolute terror.
Vincent stepped into the room, followed closely by his enforcer, Paul. The heavy door clanged shut, plunging the room into total acoustic isolation.
Vincent did not speak immediately. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, his polished leather shoes echoing rhythmically. He removed his tailored suit jacket, meticulously folding it and placing it on a small table. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his crisp dress shirt and slowly rolled them up to his forearms, revealing the thick, corded muscle of a man who had fought his way to the top of the underworld.
"Vincent, let's talk about this rationally," Dominic pleaded, straining against the heavy zip-ties cutting into his wrists. "We are family. Our grandfathers built this syndicate together. You can't execute me over a misunderstanding with a maid!"
"The maid," Vincent said, his deep, raspy voice echoing in the barren room, "told me about the bruises on his arms."
Dominic froze, his breath hitching audibly. The lie he had prepared died instantly on his tongue.
"She told me about the gun you put to her head," Vincent continued, stopping directly in front of his cousin. "She told me about the threats to her family."
"She's lying!" Dominic screamed, desperation fueling a final, pathetic burst of defiance. "She wants money! She's trying to extort the family by framing me!"
Vincent’s right hand moved with explosive speed. He delivered a brutal, open-handed strike across Dominic’s jaw. The sound was deafening. Dominic’s head snapped violently to the side, blood instantly pooling at the corner of his mouth.
"You think I am a fool," Vincent growled, leaning in so close that Dominic could smell the expensive cologne and absolute death radiating from the Boss. "I know my son. I saw his eyes tonight. He looked at you the way a man looks at his executioner."
Dominic spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete, his chest heaving. The arrogant facade completely shattered, leaving only the cowardly reality of his nature.
"Why, Dominic?" Vincent asked, stepping back and clasping his hands behind his back. "You have wealth. You have territory. Why target a three-year-old child?"
"Because he is weak!" Dominic suddenly yelled, a twisted, bitter anger breaking through his fear. "He cries over everything! He is soft, Vincent! The other families see it! They whisper behind your back. They say the great Vincent Moretti is raising a fragile little boy who will hand over our empire the moment he inherits it!"
"So you decided to toughen him up?" Vincent asked coldly.
"I was trying to break him of his weakness!" Dominic justified, his eyes wide and frantic. "I was preparing him for the reality of our world! You coddle him because his mother died, but that won't save him when the Chicago outfit comes for our territory!"
"You did not do this to make him strong," Vincent deduced, his sharp mind slicing through the pathetic excuse. "You did it to break him. You wanted him traumatized. You wanted him incapable of leading."
Vincent leaned forward, his voice a low, terrifying hum. "You wanted the Commission to view him as unfit. So that when I die, the leadership passes directly to you."
Dominic’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror. The ultimate, treasonous ambition he had harbored for years had just been laid bare under the harsh halogen light.
"I didn't..." Dominic stammered, shaking his head.
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"A coup," Vincent stated softly. "You are planning a coup. And you are not smart enough to do it alone. Who are you working with, Dominic?"
Dominic clamped his mouth shut, realizing that confessing his allies would sign his death warrant faster than the abuse. But Vincent Moretti was a veteran for a reason. He had ways of making dead men speak.
