Chapter 5 - The Downfall of Detective VanceTwo hours later, the limestone security basement echoed with the sound of heavy boots hitting concrete.
The steel door swung open, and Dominic, flanked by two massive enforcers, shoved a handcuffed man stumbling into the center of the room. The man wore a crumpled detective’s suit, his tie loosened, his face bruised and swollen.
Marcus Vance gasped for air, falling to his knees on the cold concrete. He looked up, blinking wildly under the harsh fluorescent glare, trying to regain his bearings.
"What the hell is this?!" Marcus shouted, struggling against the heavy steel handcuffs binding his wrists behind his back. "I’m a detective with the Chicago Police Department! This is kidnapping! You’re all going away for—"
His voice died in his throat as a pair of polished Italian leather shoes stepped into his field of vision.
Marcus slowly raised his head. Standing above him was Alessio Romano. The mafia boss looked down at the corrupt cop the way a scientist might look at a particularly repulsive insect under a microscope.
"Detective Marcus Vance," Alessio said smoothly, his voice a lethal whisper. "Thirty-six years old. Fifteen years on the force, three internal affairs investigations buried, and a lucrative side hustle stealing medical-grade narcotics from Chicago General Hospital to supply the North Side gangs."
Marcus swallowed hard, the color draining entirely from his face. "You... you don't know who you're messing with. I have federal backup—"
"You have nothing," Alessio interrupted coldly. He reached down, grabbed Marcus by the collar of his cheap suit, and hauled him up to his feet with terrifying ease, slamming him against the concrete wall. "You threatened my employee. You texted her while she was under my roof, protecting my son."
The heavy steel basement door opened again. Fiona walked in, standing a few paces behind Alessio. She wore a simple dark sweater and jeans, her expression carved from stone as she looked at the man who had systematically destroyed her life two years ago.
Marcus spotted her over Alessio’s shoulder, his eyes widening in desperate recognition. "Fiona! Thank God! Tell these maniacs to let me go! We can work this out, just like old times—"
Fiona stepped forward. Before Marcus could say another word, she raised her hand and delivered a sharp, vicious open-palm slap across his face that echoed off the concrete walls.
Marcus reeled back, stunned, a red mark blooming across his cheek. "You... bitch—"
"That’s for my license," Fiona said, her voice trembling with cold fury, entirely devoid of fear. "And this is for every shift I spent working double-shifts while you stole drugs from dying cancer patients to pay off your bookies."
She stepped back, letting out a long, ragged breath, her hands steadying.
Alessio watched her with a flicker of dark, lethal admiration in his eyes. He turned his attention back to Marcus, pressing the barrel of his Glock firmly under the detective’s chin, tilting his head up toward the ceiling.
"You have two choices, Detective," Alessio whispered, his voice deadly quiet. "Option one: I sign your death warrant right now, feed your remains to the carp in Lake Michigan, and wipe your badge off the municipal registry before breakfast."
Marcus was shaking violently now, tears leaking from his eyes, urine soaking through the fabric of his trousers. "What’s... what’s option two?!"
Alessio smiled—a cold, terrifying sight that didn't reach his eyes. "You sign a full confession detailing every stolen vial of fentanyl, every bribe you took from the North Side gangs, and every lie you told internal affairs to frame Fiona Bennett. You mail it certified to the federal prosecutor’s office and the state medical board."
"And if I do that?" Marcus choked out, gasping for breath.
"Then Dominic drops you off at the Indiana border with a bus ticket and fifty dollars," Alessio said softly. "And if you ever set foot in Chicago again... I won't use a gun. I’ll let Fiona handle you."
Five minutes later, the confession was signed, sealed, and handed to Dominic to be mailed directly to the federal prosecutor's office.
As Marcus was dragged screaming out of the basement, Fiona stood alone with Alessio in the dim light. The adrenaline was slowly draining out of her veins, leaving behind a profound, hollow exhaustion.
Alessio walked over to her, his movements unhurried. He reached out, his warm, heavy hand resting gently on the back of her neck, pulling her forehead against his chest.
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"It's over, Fiona," Alessio murmured into her hair, his voice unusually soft. "Your name is cleared. Your license will be reinstated by the end of the week. You're free to go."
Fiona closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of cedar and gunpowder. She realized, with a sudden, terrifying jolt of clarity, that she didn't want to go anywhere at all.
