Chapter 4 - The Interrogation at the Docks
The rain outside the shipping warehouse on Pier 14 beat down relentlessly against the corrugated iron roof. Inside, thirty people—kitchen staff, security personnel, housekeepers, and personal assistants— sat bound to steel chairs arranged in a wide circle.
Dim spotlights hung from the rafters, casting long, menacing shadows across the damp concrete floor.
I walked into the center of the circle wearing a dark wool coat. Behind me stood ten of my most ruthless enforcers, armed with heavy submachine guns.
The room went dead silent the moment I stepped into the light. The staff knew who I was. They had seen me order executions before, but they had never seen me like this—unhinged, eyes hollowed out by grief, covered in the dried blood of the woman they all loved.
I didn't offer a speech. I didn't make threats.
I walked over to a table where Marco, my chief investigator, had laid out the forensic evidence: the vial of synthetic thallium, the delivery logs of the estate’s imported tea, and a stack of financial records.
"Miss Clare is currently fighting for her life in the ICU," I announced, my voice echoing off the high iron walls. "Someone in this room placed arsenic in her morning tea every single day for four months."
A collective gasp rippled through the staff. Two of the younger maids began to weep silently.
"I know she was kind to all of you," I continued, pacing slowly around the ring of chairs. "I know she remembered your children's names. She brought you gifts. She treated you like human beings in a house built on violence. And one of you traded her life for money."
I stopped behind the head chef, a heavy-set Italian man named Antonio who had served the Romano family for twenty years.
"Antonio," I said softly, placing my hands on his shoulders.
"Mr. Romano, I swear on my mother's grave!" Antonio wept, shaking violently. "I loved Miss Clare! I cooked whatever she asked for! I would never touch her food!"
"I believe you, Antonio," I said calmly. "Because you don't have a secret bank account in the Cayman Islands that received a fifty thousand dollar deposit three weeks ago."
The room grew freezing cold.
I moved past Antonio and stopped in front of a young, polished assistant named Daniel—a man I had hired six months ago to manage the estate’s logistical supplies.
Daniel’s face drained of every ounce of color. Sweat broke out across his forehead, running down his neck into his pristine collar.
"Mr. Romano..." Daniel stammered, his knees knocking together beneath his chair. "That... that money was from a private real estate investment! I can explain—"
I didn't wait for his explanation.
In a lightning-fast motion, I grabbed him by his neck, hauled him out of the chair, and slammed his head downward onto the steel table in the center of the room.
CRACK.
Blood spattered across the stainless steel surface. The maids shrieked in terror. My enforcers raised their weapons, keeping the rest of the bound staff pinned in their seats.
"Who paid you?" I growled, dragging Daniel up by his hair, his broken nose pouring crimson down his chin. "Give me a name, Daniel. Give me a name, or I will peel the skin off your bones piece by piece."
"It was... it was the Moretti family!" Daniel screamed, hysterical with pain and terror. "Victor Moretti! He threatened my family! He said if I didn't slip the dropper into her tea, he'd kill my sister!"
"Victor Moretti," I repeated, the name dropping into my mind like a hot lead bullet.
Victor Moretti was the leader of the rival syndicate in Boston—a man I had humiliated in a land dispute two years ago. He knew he couldn't hit me directly; my personal security was impenetrable. So he targeted the softest, gentlest thing in my life. He targeted Clare to destroy me from the inside out, knowing my own arrogance would blind me to her suffering until it was too late.
"Why the slow poison?" I demanded, pressing a heavy combat knife against Daniel’s throat. "Why not a bullet?!"
"Because... because Moretti wanted you to watch her suffer!" Daniel sobbed, blood dripping from his lips. "He wanted her to die slowly... so you would think she was weak... so you would push her away and break her heart before she died! He said... he said the mental torture would ruin you!"
The truth hit me like a physical blow.
Moretti hadn't just poisoned her body; he had weaponized my own cruel nature. He knew I hated weakness. He knew I would dismiss her tears. He had turned me into his accomplice in breaking Clare’s spirit.
My hand shook against the handle of the knife. Pure, blinding rage surged through my veins, hot and consuming.
"Lorenzo," I said softly, stepping back from the bloodied assistant.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Take the staff back to the estate. Give them triple their annual pay for their cooperation. Except Daniel."
"What about Daniel, Boss?"
I turned my back, walking toward the exit. "Give him to Marco. Make sure he stays alive until I finish with Victor Moretti."
I stepped out into the pouring rain, pulling my coat tight around my shoulders. The storm was raging, lightning splitting the dark Atlantic sky.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Dr. Harrison’s direct line at the hospital.
"Harrison," I said the moment he picked up. "How is she?"
May you like
There was a long pause on the other end of the line—a pause so heavy it made my heart stop.
"Julian," Harrison said softly, his voice trembling. "Her fever spiked to 105. Her lungs are filling with fluid. You need to come back. Right now."
