Chapter 2 - The Interrogation
The basement of Villa Fontana did not resemble the opulent marble halls above. It was thick concrete, cool and windowless, built decades ago by Alessio’s grandfather to withstand sieges and extract truths.
In the center of the room, tied securely to a wooden chair, was the catering worker Nina had pointed out—a young man named Dario who had been hired three weeks ago through an upscale agency. On the table before him lay a small blue microfiber cloth and a tiny glass vial, recovered from the bottom of a trash bin near the kitchen.
Alessio sat on an overturned wooden crate across from him, sipping espresso from a plain porcelain cup. He hadn't changed out of his tuxedo, though he had removed his jacket and rolled up his crisp white sleeves.
“I don't know anything, Don Alessio! I swear!” Dario sobbed, his nose bleeding from Marco’s preliminary questioning. “I was just told to deliver the glass! A guy paid me five thousand euros in cash!”
“Five thousand euros,” Alessio mused, setting his cup down. “A small price for my life. Who gave you the money, Dario?”
“I don't know his name! He wore a mask! He met me behind the linen truck an hour before the party!”
Marco stepped forward, reaching for his brass knuckles, but Alessio raised a hand, stopping him.
“He is telling the truth about the contact,” Alessio said quietly. “A real assassin doesn't give his name to a temp worker. But he left something behind.”
Alessio stood up and walked over to the table, picking up the small blue cloth. He held it up to the harsh fluorescent light. “This cloth wasn't bought at a hardware store. Look at the stitching, Marco. It’s custom micro-fiber used exclusively by the detailing crew at the Marina Club.”
Marco’s eyes narrowed. “The Marina Club... that’s Don Moretti’s territory.”
“Moretti,” Alessio murmured. Don Moretti was the leader of the rival syndicate controlling the docks, a man who had signed a tentative peace treaty with Alessio only six months ago. “Moretti is ambitious, but he is not stupid. He knows if he kills me, my capos will burn his docks to the ground before the sun rises. He wouldn't risk it without an insider guaranteeing the takeover.”
Alessio turned toward the heavy iron door of the basement. “Who benefit most from my death tonight, Marco?”
“Your capos... or your heirs.”
“And my fiancée,” Alessio added, his voice chillingly neutral. “Valentina’s family holds thirty percent of our joint logistics venture. If I die before the wedding, control reverts to her father. If I die after, she inherits everything.”
Marco wiped his brow. “What do we do with the girl and her mother? They saw the glass. The news is going to leak.”
“The news does not leak unless I want it to,” Alessio snapped. “Keep the guests in the main ballroom until morning. Tell them it’s a security protocol. As for the child...”
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Alessio paused, remembering the calm, observant eyes of the seven-year-old girl. She hadn't screamed. She hadn't run. She had simply noticed what adults were too blind or arrogant to see.
“Bring her mother to my office,” Alessio instructed. “It’s time I learned who Greta Boschi really is.”
