Chapter 4 - The Secrets of the Cellar
The air in the concrete cellar smelled of damp earth and old copper. A single lightbulb hung from a yellowed cord, casting long, dancing shadows across the damp walls.
The captive, whose name was Marco, was shivering despite the heat of the fever setting into his mangled arm. He stared at the dog sitting three feet in front of him.
Diesel did not move. He sat like a statue of scarred granite, his heavy tongue hanging out slightly, a thin line of saliva dripping onto the concrete. Every few seconds, he would let out a soft, wet huff of air that sounded like a low threat.
"I don't know anything!" Marco gasped, his forehead slick with sweat. "I swear to you, Romano! Salvatore just gave us the address! He said the boss was distracted! He said the house would be empty!"
Vincent leaned against the concrete pillar, his hands in his pockets. He looked entirely comfortable, as if he were attending a board meeting rather than an interrogation.
"Distracted by what, Marco?" Vincent asked softly.
"The port! He said the federal raid would draw your entire security team away! We were just supposed to take the girl! A hostage, that’s all! A bargaining chip!"
"For whom?"
Marco shook his head wildly. "I don't know! Some guy from Chicago! A guy named Moretti! He’s the one who bought Salvatore!"
Vincent’s jaw tightened. Moretti. The head of the Chicago Syndicate. A man who had been trying to get a foothold in the Eastern ports for a decade. If Moretti had Salvatore, it meant the Romano family was facing a full-scale war.
"Giuseppe," Vincent said without looking back.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Take Diesel upstairs to Sophia. She’s in the nursery."
Giuseppe blinked. "You're leaving the dog with the girl, Boss?"
"He's the only security guard in this house I trust right now," Vincent said, his voice flat. "Go."
As Giuseppe led the massive dog up the concrete stairs, Vincent walked over to Marco. He leaned down until his face was inches from the trembling man’s nose.
"You're going to tell me every warehouse, every safehouse, and every phone number Salvatore has used in the last month," Vincent whispered. "And if you lie to me... I won't use the dog. I'll do it myself."
Upstairs, the nursery was warm and quiet. Sophia sat on the edge of the small canopy bed, her teddy bear tucked under her arm.
The door creaked open, and Diesel slid into the room. He walked over to the bed, his heavy claws clicking on the hardwood floor. He stopped, looked up at her, and then placed his heavy chin on the mattress, letting out a soft grunt.
Sophia smiled, her sadness lifting. She slid off the bed and curled up on the rug beside him, burying her face in his thick, warm fur.
"They're angry because they don't know how to love things," she whispered to the dog. "My mommy told me that angry people are just scared people who forgot how to cry."
Diesel closed his eyes, his heavy breathing serving as a rhythmic lullaby as the storm raged outside the mansion.
AssetPrior StatusCurrent StatusThe East WingForbidden TerritorySecured / Sophia's PlayroomPort NewarkCompromisedSeized by FedsSalvatore (Underboss)TrustedDeclared Traitor
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At 3:45 AM, Vincent’s private line rang. It was Salvatore. His voice was frantic, accompanied by the sound of rushing wind and a car engine. "Vincent, you have to listen to me! It wasn't Moretti! Moretti is already dead! The man who took your shipment... the man who sent those shooters... he’s inside your house right now. He’s been there for twenty years."
