Chapter 8
The descent into the estate's subterranean holding cells was cold and stark. The cinematic brightness of the upper floors was replaced by harsh, fluorescent lighting that cast deep, unforgiving shadows across the concrete walls. Dante Moretti walked silently down the corridor, his tailored suit completely out of place in the grim, violent dungeon, yet he looked entirely at home.
He stepped into the interrogation room. Adrian was strapped securely to a heavy metal chair in the center of the floor. His fair skin was bruised and pale, his dress shirt stained with his own blood. He looked up as Dante entered, sheer terror radiating from his eyes.
"Dante," Adrian gasped, his breathing labored. "I'll give you the accounts. I'll give you the offshore routing numbers. Take everything. Just let me live."
Dante pulled a metal folding chair from the corner and placed it directly in front of his cousin. He sat down slowly, resting his powerful, masculine hands on his knees. The family signet ring gleamed under the harsh light.
"I already have the money, Adrian," Dante whispered softly. "I want the tapes."
"I told you, I destroyed them!" Adrian cried out, pulling futilely against his restraints. "I burned the hard drives the day after Elena died!"
"Why?" Dante asked, his voice a low, terrifying hum. "If it was a simple car accident, why would you burn the surveillance data? Unless the tapes proved it wasn't an accident."
Adrian swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically around the small concrete room. "The commission... they wouldn't understand. If they found out I was spying on the boss's wife, they would have executed me."
"You are lying to me again," Dante said, measuring the pauses between his words carefully. He leaned forward, his sharp, intimidating eyes locking onto his cousin's soul. "You burned the tapes because you heard the brakes being cut. You heard the mechanic. You heard the order being given."
"No!" Adrian shouted, a desperate, hysterical denial.
"Who gave the order, Adrian?" Dante demanded, his volume finally rising by a fraction, the suppressed rage bleeding through his icy exterior. "Who ordered the hit on my wife?"
"It wasn't me!" Adrian wept, tears streaming down his bruised face. "I swear to God, Dante, I only bugged the house! I wasn't part of the hit!"
"But you know who was," Dante deduced, his mind connecting the horrifying dots. "You heard them planning it. And instead of coming to me, instead of warning me, you used the information to blackmail the killers. You kept quiet, and in exchange, they backed your play to control me through Victoria."
Adrian broke. The veteran capo slumped in his chair, completely defeated by the sheer, terrifying intellect of the Mafia boss.
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"They said she was a liability," Adrian choked out, his American accent slurred by his split lip. "They said Elena was asking too many questions about the legitimate businesses. She was going to expose the laundering operations. They had to remove her."
"Who?" Dante whispered, the word carrying a lethal, absolute promise of death.
