Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in the Vaults
While the upper levels of the Belladonna Manor were cleared of terrified guests and locked down by heavy armed guards, the air three stories below ground was cold, damp, and smelled of old iron and concrete.
The lower vaults of the Leone estate had stood since the 1920s—a subterranean labyrinth designed to hold secrets that the outside world could never be allowed to see.
Camille St. Clair sat bound to a steel chair under a single bare lightbulb. Her beautiful white gown was torn, stained with dirt, and her expensive hair was a wild mess. Across from her, tied to a separate pillar, Victor Vance was weeping uncontrollably, his knee clumsily bandaged by a mob doctor to prevent him from bleeding out before he could talk.
The heavy steel door creaked open. Dante stepped into the room, flanked by Marco and his chief intelligence officer, a lethal, quiet woman named Natasha.
Dante removed his suit jacket, folded it neatly over a wooden table, and began rolling up his crisp white shirt sleeves.
“I’m going to make this very simple, Victor,” Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You have served my father and me for twenty-two years. I paid for your children’s Ivy League tuition. I bought your estate in Martha’s Vineyard. Why?”
Victor squeezed his eyes shut, blood pouring down his pant leg. “They... they had my son, Dante! Senator St. Clair found out about the offshore tax accounts I was managing for the Leone family. He threatened to send me to federal prison for life and murder my boy in his dorm room if I didn't help them take over the Syndicate!”
Dante didn't flinch. “So you decided to murder me instead.”
“It wasn't just St. Clair!” Victor blurted out, desperate to trade information for his life. “There’s a higher council! The Chicago Syndicate, the Russian Vor in Brooklyn... they all chipped in for the nerve agent! They knew if you married Camille, the Leone family would become untouchable. They wanted you dead before the contract was sealed!”
Dante listened, his sharp mind connecting every piece of the puzzle. The wedding had been a trap built by three different global factions who feared his growing dominance over the Eastern Seaboard. They had used Camille’s political greed, Victor’s cowardice, and a deadly military-grade poison to stage a clean, undisputed corporate takeover of his empire.
He turned his gaze onto Camille.
She lifted her chin, trying to muster her old aristocratic pride. “You can’t kill me, Dante. I am a Senator’s daughter. My father has already logged my location with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If I don't return to the St. Clair estate by midnight, a federal strike team will breach this property.”
Dante chuckled—a dark, humorless sound that made even Marco shift his weight nervously.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a encrypted satellite phone. He tapped a button and placed it on speaker on the steel table.
A heavy, terrified voice answered from the speaker: “Dante... please... let’s talk about this like businessmen...”
It was Senator Arthur St. Clair.
“Arthur,” Dante said smoothly. “Your daughter is currently sitting in my cellar. Your legal counsel is bleeding on my floor. And your federal strike team...”
Dante tapped the screen again, displaying a live video feed on a small monitor mounted on the wall.
The video showed a fleet of black armored SUVs parked outside the St. Clair mansion in Washington D.C. Dozens of heavily armed Leone operatives were surrounding the house, while federal agents in suits were being led out in handcuffs by corrupt high-ranking directors whom Dante had owned for years.
“Your strike team has been stood down, Arthur,” Dante said coldly. “The Director of the Bureau just accepted a ten-million-dollar wire transfer from my Swiss account. You have been exposed for high treason, conspiracy to commit murder, and taking bribes from the Russian Vor.”
Senator St. Clair gasped through the phone speaker, his breath ragged. “What... what do you want from me, Leone?”
“I want full corporate surrender,” Dante stated. “Transfer every port permit, every real estate deed, and every political proxy under your control to the Leone Foundation by midnight. If you do, you live out your days in a luxurious private compound in South America, quiet and forgotten. If you refuse...”
Dante looked at Camille.
“Your daughter pays the interest on your debt.”
“I’ll sign! I’ll sign everything!” the Senator screamed into the phone. “Just don't touch her!”
Dante ended the call. He looked down at Camille, whose eyes were wide with total defeat. Her political empire, her wealth, her pride—everything had been erased in less than two hours.
“Take them to the docks,” Dante told Marco. “Put them on a cargo ship heading south. If either of them ever sets foot on North American soil again, put them in the ocean.”
May you like
As Marco’s men dragged the screaming bride and the weeping attorney out of the vault, Dante stood alone in the dim light. He had eliminated his enemies and secured his empire’s total dominance, but his heart felt strangely empty.
He thought of the innocent nine-year-old girl upstairs who had faced down an army of killers with nothing more than a crystal centerpiece and an unshakeable sense of right and wrong.
