Chapter 6 - The Interrogation and the TraitorThe captives were dragged down to the deep limestone cellars beneath Callahan Manor—a place where sunlight had never reached.
The air was damp and smelled of old stone and fear. Tied securely to reinforced steel chairs were two of the masked operatives. Their tactical gear was stripped away, revealing standard mercenary tattoos common among the Eastern European syndicates.
Ronan stood before them, rolling up his sleeves. His face was a mask of cold, merciless fury. Boon stood beside him, holding a heavy metal wrench.
Marin stood a few feet back, watching from the shadows with Murphy and Mave flanking her sides. She expected Ronan to scream, to torture them in cold blood like the mafia bosses in movies. But Ronan spoke in a voice that was terrifyingly calm.
"Who hired you?" Ronan asked, leaning down until his face was inches from the lead mercenary.
The mercenary spat blood onto the polished stone floor. "Go to hell, Callahan. You're a dead man anyway. The council has voted. Your empire is crumbling from the inside."
Ronan didn't blink. He nodded slightly to Boon.
Boon stepped forward, but before the wrench could move, Marin stepped out of the shadows.
"Wait," Marin said, her voice echoing clearly off the stone walls.
Ronan looked over his shoulder, his eyes softening fractionally when they met hers. "Marin, this is no place for you. Go back upstairs."
"No," Marin said, walking right up to the tied mercenary. She looked down at him with cold, unwavering eyes. "I saw the way he tied his boots before they crashed through the window. Double-knotted, military-style. But look at his left wrist."
Boon leaned in closer, lifting the mercenary's arm. Etched into the flesh just below the tactical watch was a small, distinct tattoo: a coiled viper wrapped around a dagger.
"The Vanguard Syndicate," Ronan whispered, his eyes narrowing to razor slits. "Not an independent hit squad. My own board of directors hired them."
The mercenary’s face turned pale. He realized he had been exposed not by torture, but by observation.
"And who gave them the master override code to Fion's villa?" Marin asked, leaning down until her face was inches from his. "Who ordered the fire?"
The mercenary swallowed hard, casting a terrified glance at Ronan. "It was... it was..."
Crack.
Before the name could leave the mercenary's lips, a silenced bullet pierced the cellar window high above, striking the captive squarely in the forehead. He slumped forward, dead before he hit the ground.
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"Sniper in the outer courtyard!" Boon yelled, drawing his weapon and shielding Ronan.
"They have eyes inside the estate!" Ronan roared, grabbing Marin’s hand. "Move! Now!"
