Chapter 3 - The Interrogation
Upstairs in the high-security interrogation suite, Marco Bellini was tied to a steel chair. Blood dripped from his wounded shoulder onto the polished concrete floor. Two guards stood by the door, while Dante leaned against a mahogany desk, slowly pouring a glass of amber whiskey.
"Who else is working with the Russians, Marco?" Dante asked, taking a slow sip.
Marco spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and laughed hoarsely. "Go to hell, Dante. You think you’re untouchable? You think because a brat with a crayon saved you today that you've won? The Syndicate has already planted operatives inside your logistics division. You're bleeding out, and you don't even know where the knife is."
Dante didn't raise his voice. He didn't lose his temper. He simply set the glass down, walked over to Marco, and slammed his fist directly into Marco’s jaw with bone-crunching force. Marco gasped, his head snapping back.
"Give me names," Dante demanded.
"You want names?" Marco wheezed, a bloody grin spreading across his face. "Check your own bloodline, Dante. Check your uncle Salvatore. He’s been cutting deals behind your back for months. I was just the delivery boy."
Dante froze. Salvatore Moretti. His father's younger brother. The man who had raised him after his parents died. The idea was sickening, a betrayal cutting deeper than Marco’s treachery ever could.
Before Dante could process the revelation, a deafening explosion rocked the mansion. The entire floor shook violently, knocking Dante off balance. Red emergency lights flooded the corridors as an automated alarm wailed overhead.
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"Sir!" a guard screamed through the radio clipped to his collar. "The eastern gate has been breached! Heavy mercenaries are storming the courtyard! They're using military-grade explosives!"
Dante drew his weapon, his eyes narrowing with lethal fury. The rats had moved faster than he anticipated.
