Chapter 7 - The InterrogationTen minutes later, the fire in the doorway had been smothered with heavy wool rugs, and the smoke had cleared into the night air.
One of the Moretti operatives—a scarred brute named Rico—was tied securely to a sturdy mahogany chair using heavy velvet drapes. His tactical gear had been stripped away, leaving him in a blood-stained undershirt, sweating profusely as Tsar stood two inches from his face, letting out a low, vibrating growl that promised immediate dismemberment if he so much as blinked too loudly.
Dimitri stood over him, holding a heavy silver cigar cutter in his hand, spinning it lazily.
"Who sent you, Rico?" Dimitri asked softly. His voice didn't carry anger; it carried the crushing weight of inevitable doom. "Was it Marco Moretti himself, or did one of my capos sell me out from the inside?"
Rico spat a glob of blood onto the Persian rug. "Go to hell, Sokolov. Marco’s already taking over your docks. By sunrise, your empire is dust."
Dimitri sighed, stepping forward. But before he could raise the cigar cutter, Lara stepped past him.
She didn't shout. She didn't threaten. Instead, she walked over to Rico’s side, reached down into her cardboard box, pulled out a pair of sterile surgical scissors, and tapped the flat metal side against the man's left kneecap.
"You have a compound fracture in your right radius, a concussion, and three cracked ribs," Lara said in her calm, professional clinical voice, as if giving a medical report. "Normally, I'd administer morphine and set those bones. But under current field conditions, I don't have painkillers."
Rico’s eyes widened slightly. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about anatomy, Rico," Lara whispered, leaning in close. "Your femoral artery runs right along the inside of your thigh. If I apply pressure with these scissors at precisely this angle, your leg won't die, but the pain will exceed anything your central nervous system has ever experienced. You'll remain conscious for twenty minutes while you bleed internally. And the best part? No one will hear you scream over the wind."
She pressed the cold metal tip against his skin. Rico’s breath hitched. The tough-guy facade completely shattered, replaced by the primitive, animal terror of someone staring into the abyss.
"Wait! Wait!" Rico choked out, tears mixing with sweat on his bruised cheeks. "It was Salvatore! Your underboss, Salvatore! He gave Moretti your schedule! He’s meeting Marco at the waterfront warehouse at midnight to hand over the ledger!"
Dimitri froze. Salvatore. His most trusted advisor, the man who had stood by his side for a decade.
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Dimitri looked at Lara, his face dark as thunder. "Salvatore..."
"Treachery inside the house," Lara said calmly, stepping back and wiping the scissors on a cloth. "That explains how they knew which hospital you were brought to."
