Chapter 5 - The Hunt Begins
By 3:00 AM, the sub-level interrogation room smelled of cold concrete, old blood, and raw fear.
Marcus Vance was strapped securely to a heavy steel chair, his shattered knee crudely bandaged by a syndicate medic who had done just enough to keep him conscious for the main event. His face was bruised, his uniform torn, and his haughty, arrogant demeanor had completely vanished, replaced by the shivering terror of a man who knew he was standing at the edge of an abyss.
The heavy steel door swung open, and Damian Cross walked in.
He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. He wore a simple black tactical turtleneck and dark cargo pants, his sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms scarred from decades of gangland warfare. In his right hand, he carried a heavy steel wrench. In his left, he held a blood-stained piece of pink construction paper—the very drawing Ellie had made of Marcus and the Moretti enforcer.
Damian walked slowly around the chair, the heavy clank of his boots echoing off the concrete walls like the tolling of a doom bell. He didn't say a word. He stopped directly in front of Marcus, tossing the pink paper onto the man's lap.
“Recognize your artwork, Marcus?” Damian asked quietly. His voice was devoid of emotion, which made it infinitely more terrifying than a shout.
Marcus swallowed hard, his dry lips cracking as he tried to speak. “Damian… listen to me… I didn't know they were going to hit the guest wing. I swear to God, I just told them about the perimeter blind spots! I didn't authorize a hit on the kid!”
Clang.
The heavy steel wrench smashed into the concrete floor a fraction of an inch from Marcus’s uninjured foot, sending sparks flying off the stone. Marcus flinched back with a sharp, agonizing cry.
“Who?” Damian demanded, leaning down until his face was inches from Marcus’s. “Give me a name. Give me the name of the rat who broke into Ellie’s bedroom tonight.”
“It… it’s Vince Moretti!” Marcus sobbed, the last vestiges of his loyalty shattering under the threat of impending execution. “Vince! He’s running the northern cell out of the abandoned meat-packing plant on 4th and Halsted! He’s got three squads of mercenaries waiting for the final push on your estate!”
Damian stared at him for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, slowly, a cold, dangerous smile touched the corners of his lips.
“Thank you, Marcus,” Damian murmured.
He stood up, turned to Viktor, who stood quietly by the door holding a submachine gun, and gave a single, curt nod.
“Take him to the harbor,” Damian ordered coldly. “Put him in a pair of concrete shoes. Let him swim with the fishes he sold out to.”
As Marcus began screaming, begging for mercy as Viktor’s men hauled him out of the chair, Damian walked out of the interrogation room into the brightly lit command bunker.
Hannah was waiting for him by the control consoles. She had managed to calm Ellie down, leaving her sleeping in the secure panic room upstairs under the watch of two trusted female guards. Hannah’s eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but her expression was no longer panicked. It was hard, resolute, and burning with the same protective fury as Damian’s.
“You’re going after them,” Hannah stated, stepping into his path. It wasn't a question.
“I am,” Damian said, his voice softening as he looked at her. “Vince Moretti thinks he can bring war to my doorstep. He thinks my home is vulnerable because I dared to let people in. I’m going to show him what happens when you threaten the only things I care about in this world.”
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Hannah reached out, placing her hand gently over his knuckles, right where his grip on his tactical gloves was clenched tight.
“Bring them down, Damian,” she whispered fiercely. “And come back to us.”
