Keira Drake to rip the paper birthday crown from the toddler’s head, crush it, and force a large empty gift box down over his head to trap him

The subterranean holding cells beneath the south wing were a stark departure from the bright, cinematic luxury of the main estate. Here, the lighting was harsh, industrial, and unforgiving. The walls were thick, soundproof concrete, and the air smelled faintly of damp earth and bleach.

Selene stood in the observation corridor, her posture rigid and imposing. She had traded her tailored blazer for a sleek, dark turtleneck, though she still wore the heavy gold signet ring. She watched through the reinforced, one-way mirror into the holding cell where the Drake family had been deposited hours earlier.

Troy, Keira, and Opal were huddled together on a cold metal bench. The arrogant, aristocratic facade had completely crumbled. Troy’s face was severely swollen, a dark purple bruise blooming across his cheekbone where Selene had struck him. Keira was shivering, her expensive dress ruined, and Opal looked like a fragile, terrified old woman, her pearl necklace long gone.

"They haven't spoken a word to each other since we locked them in, Boss," Marcus reported, standing respectfully at Selene's side. "They are terrified. They know we have them dead to rights."

"Fear is a useful tool," Selene murmured, her American accent low and analytical. "But I need actionable intelligence. Chicago wouldn't send them in blindly. They must have a handler inside the city."

"Do you want me to go in and start the interrogation?" Marcus asked, his hand drifting toward his sidearm.

"No," Selene said, her dark eyes calculating the psychology of her prisoners. "Physical pain will only make Troy stubborn. Opal is the weak link. She is the matriarch. She arranged this arrangement to save her family's dwindling fortune. If she thinks her children are going to suffer, she will break."

Selene turned to the heavy steel door of the cell. "Open it."

Marcus punched a code into the keypad. The electronic locks disengaged with a heavy, definitive clack. Selene stepped into the cell, the harsh light illuminating her flawless, terrifying composure.

The Drakes scrambled backward on the metal bench, their fair, rosy skin turning ashen at her arrival.

"Selene, please," Troy croaked, his voice thick and slurred from his swollen jaw. "We haven't had any water. Keira is freezing. You can't keep us in here like animals."

"You lost the right to complain about accommodations when you attacked a three-year-old child," Selene stated coldly, standing in the center of the cell, her hands clasped behind her back.

She ignored Troy and Keira completely, stepping closer to Opal. The older woman shrank back, pressing herself against the concrete wall.

"I am going to ask you a question, Opal," Selene said, her voice a slow, lethal whisper that commanded the entire room. "And you are going to answer me. If you lie, or if you hesitate, I will have Marcus take Troy into the next room and remove his fingers one by one until you remember the truth."

Opal gasped, tears welling in her terrified eyes. "No! Please! I'll tell you whatever you want to know!"

"Mom, shut up!" Troy yelled, trying to muster some bravado. "She's bluffing! The Chicago outfit will kill us if we talk!"

Selene didn't even look at him. She simply raised two fingers.

Marcus stepped forward, grabbing Troy by the collar of his ruined suit and dragging him effortlessly off the bench. Troy thrashed and shouted, but the seasoned Capo easily overpowered him, hauling him toward the heavy steel door.

"Wait! Wait!" Opal screamed, throwing her hands up in absolute, panic-stricken surrender. "Don't hurt him! I'll tell you! I'll give you the handler's name!"