Chapter 3 - THE SNAKE IN THE BLOODLINEThe interrogation room beneath the estate was cold, damp, and smelled of concrete and old iron.
Vivian, a forty-year-old woman with sharp features and cold blue eyes, sat handcuffed to an iron table in the center of the room. Her hair was disheveled, but her face held a arrogant, smug expression.
The heavy steel door swung open.
Lorenzo walked in, carrying a wooden chair. He set it down across from her and sat down slowly, leaning his elbows on his knees.
"Don Lorenzo," Vivian purred smoothly, trying to maintain her composure. "This is absurd. You're holding me against my will! If my medical association finds out—"
Lorenzo reached into his pocket and tossed the offshore ledger and the chemical analysis sheet onto the table between them.
Vivian’s smug smile instantly vanished. Her face drained of all color.
"Matteo Moretti paid you two million Swiss francs," Lorenzo stated quietly, his hazel eyes locking onto hers with absolute, crushing force. "Five hundred thousand upfront, and one point five million upon Lucas’s death."
Vivian swallowed hard, her throat moving dryly. "I... I don't know what you're talking about—"
"My wife, Isabella, died in a car crash three years ago," Lorenzo continued, ignoring her lie. "Her brother, Matteo, wanted control of the Moretti-DeLuca joint shipping ports. But under my father-in-law’s will, those ports revert entirely to Lucas on his seventh birthday. If Lucas dies before his seventh birthday... the control returns to Matteo."
Vivian began to tremble, her iron facade crumbling into dust.
"You poisoned my six-year-old boy for two million dollars," Lorenzo whispered.
"He... he didn't feel any pain!" Vivian sobbed, suddenly breaking down into hysterical panic. "Matteo told me it was painless! He threatened my family, Lorenzo! He said if I didn't do it, he would kill my daughter!"
Lorenzo stood up slowly. He didn't raise his hand. He didn't pull a gun.
He leaned down until his face was inches from hers.
"Your daughter will remain alive and untouched," Lorenzo said coldly. "Because unlike you and Matteo, I do not wage war on children. But you... you will spend the rest of your natural life in a dark room beneath the Sicilian docks, praying for a mercy you never gave my son."
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Lorenzo turned to Marco standing at the door.
"Prepare the strike team," Lorenzo ordered. "Don Matteo Moretti thinks he is inheriting my ports in two weeks. Tonight, I am going to tear his empire to the ground."
