Chapter 3 - The Confession Under the ChandelierDragged down into the reinforced concrete basement beneath the Duca estate, Vivien Romano finally stopped pretending to be the gentle, grieving caretaker.
The basement was soundproofed. In the Chicago underworld, it was known simply as The Vault.
Bound tightly to a heavy wooden chair, Vivien slumped forward, sweat plastering her dark hair to her forehead. Matteo stood by the steel door holding a heavy leather case, while Alessandro paced slowly in front of her, the small silver recorder clicking rhythmically against his signet ring.
“You’re making a massive mistake, Alessandro,” Vivien spat out, blood trickling from a small cut on her lower lip. “The Chicago Police Department knows I work here. If I vanish, people will start asking questions. Internal Affairs, the Federal Prosecutor—they’ll tear this mansion apart brick by brick.”
“Let them try,” Alessandro replied calmly. He stopped pacing and leaned down, his eyes boring into hers. “The federal prosecutor is currently eating out of my hand, and the police department division chiefs report directly to my payroll. You are entirely alone in this room, Vivien. Now... do I need to play the rest of the recording, or are you going to tell me what Isabella whispered into that matchbox before you pushed her down the stairs?”
Vivien’s eyes widened in sheer terror. The color vanished from her face entirely.
“You... you haven’t listened to the rest?” she whispered, horror dawning in her voice.
“I wanted to hear it from your own lips first,” Alessandro lied smoothly. In truth, the battery on the tiny device had died right after Isabella’s opening sentence, requiring a specialized micro-charger that Matteo was currently fetching from his office. But Vivien didn't know that.
She broke.
The psychological armor shattered into a million pieces. A hysterical, dry laugh escaped her throat.
“She was weak!” Vivien shrieked, straining against the heavy ropes. “Isabella was weak! She wanted to pack up Lily and run away to Europe! She was going to divorce you, take your daughter, and expose your entire shipping syndicate to the federal authorities! She was going to ruin everything I spent three years helping you build!”
Alessandro’s fist slammed into the wooden armrest of Vivien’s chair with the force of a battering ram, splintering the oak wood. The shockwave rattled the room.
“You were her best friend,” Alessandro whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “She trusted you. She brought you into our home when you had nowhere to go.”
“Friend?” Vivien sneered, spite twisting her features into an ugly mask. “I was never her friend. I was the architect of your empire while she sat in the garden painting watercolors! I deserved to be by your side, Alessandro. Not her! So when she found out about us—about the accounts I was quietly transferring overseas—she threatened to tell you everything. She packed a bag. We argued at the top of the grand staircase. And I gave her a little push. Just a little one.”
Matteo stepped out of the shadows, his expression stone-cold. He handed Alessandro a small charging cable plugged into a portable deck.
May you like
“Good thing,” Alessandro said, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper, “that Isabella was smarter than you gave her credit for.”
He plugged the micro-recorder into the deck and pressed play once more.
