Chapter 12 - The Midnight Interrogation
The basement beneath the Moretti estate was a windowless labyrinth of cold concrete and heavy iron bars, echoing with the steady drip of overhead water pipes. Salvatore sat tied to a heavy wooden chair, a nasty purple bruise swelling across the back of his head where Marco had struck him. Lorenzo stood before him in the dim light, leaning casually against a metal table with his arms crossed over his chest, his presence suffocatingly heavy in the enclosed space.
"You always were ambitious, Salvatore," Lorenzo said quietly, stepping closer until the tip of his shoe touched the leg of the chair. "Stealing shipments, cutting into my territory—I let those slide because you were a remnant of the old guard. But breaching my home? Putting a child in the line of fire?"
"Go to hell, Moretti," Salvatore spat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "You went soft the day your wife and daughter went into that river. You stopped ruling like a Don and started hiding like a hermit. Someone had to take the crown before the Commission tore us apart from the inside."
"Who gave you the codes?" Lorenzo’s voice dropped into a low, terrifying whisper that made the guards in the corner stiffen.
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"Figure it out yourself," Salvatore laughed bitterly, coughing as pain racked his ribs. "Check your inner circle, Lorenzo. Check the people closest to you. You think your staff doesn't talk? You think everyone in this house is loyal to a ghost?"
Lorenzo stared at him for a long, silent moment, then turned on his heel. He didn't ask again. Men like Salvatore broke easily when they realized no rescue was coming, but Lorenzo didn't need a confession to know the truth. The betrayal wasn't among the street soldiers; it was someone who had access to the master wing's digital logs.
