Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in the Cellar
The subterranean wine cellar beneath the east wing smelled of aged oak, damp stone, and bitter, rotting pride.
Damien Rizzo sat strapped to a heavy iron tasting chair in the center of the vaulted brick chamber. His bespoke suit coat had been removed, his silk tie loosened, his wrists secured with heavy steel transport chains.
The heavy oak-and-iron door creaked open.
Alessandro Viscari walked into the cellar.
He did not carry a weapon. He wore a tailored dark charcoal wool overcoat over his black dress shirt, his leather boots clicking rhythmically against the stone flags with a slow, unhurried cadence.
He stopped three paces from the chair, looking down at the man he had called a brother for fifteen years.
Damien lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in a mixture of arrogance and visceral panic.
"You're making a catastrophic mistake, Alessandro," Damien spat, his voice cracking into a dry rasp. "I built the logistics network that made this family billions! You sat in your ivory tower brooding over your father's memory while I did the dirty work on the docks! You can't touch me without starting a war with the Five Families Commission!"
Alessandro did not answer with words.
He reached into his pocket and dropped the silver falcon bracelet onto Damien’s lap.
The heavy metal links clinked against the steel chains.
Damien’s breath hitched in his throat. His face drained of every drop of color, leaving his skin the sallow, grayish hue of wet lime.
"You dropped your father's heirloom in the detergent, Damien," Alessandro said softly, each word falling like lead onto stone. "When you struck a defenseless mother in front of her child."
"Alessandro... listen to me," Damien stammered, his fingers clawing at the chains. "The girl was an employee! She had no right to steal my private files! I was protecting the syndicate's operational security—"
"You were stealing eighty-five million dollars from my father's men," Alessandro interrupted, stepping closer until his shadow completely engulfed the chair. "You partnered with Julian Sterling to sell our deepwater berths, and you thought that because Elena was a maid, she was powerless. You thought that because Sophie was three years old, she had no voice."
Alessandro pulled a copy of the morning's unsealed federal grand jury indictment from his coat, dropping the heavy document onto Damien’s knees.
"Julian Sterling signed a full confession at sunrise, Damien," Alessandro said. "He surrendered every encrypted offshore routing token, every forged signature proxy, and the security footage of your clandestine meetings at the Drake Hotel."
Damien collapsed back against the iron chair, burying his face in his cuffed hands, weeping with the raw, ugly agony of a man who had realized that his vanity had left him completely alone in the dark.
"Alessandro... please," he sobbed through his fingers. "Think of our fifteen years together... tell Arthur to drop the racketeering counts... I'll leave the country forever..."
Alessandro looked at the broken traitor.
"My father died believing you were a loyal son, Damien," Alessandro whispered softly. "You betrayed his memory the moment you raised your fist in my house. And now you can spend the rest of your life counting the days in the cold."
Alessandro turned his back on the broken deputy.
"Vincent," Alessandro commanded.
May you like
"Yes, Boss?"
"Turn him over to the federal marshals at the gate. And erase the name Rizzo from every port, every terminal, and every ledger in this state."
