Chapter 3 - THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE
The wine cellar beneath the DeLuca estate was soundproof, climate-controlled, and currently doubling as an interrogation room. Rows of vintage reds worth more than a luxury car lined the walls, standing as silent witnesses to the bloody business unfolding on the stone floor.
Danny was tied to a heavy oak chair. He was weeping openly, coughing up blood onto his white chef's coat.
Alessandro stood a few feet away, rolling up the sleeves of his pristine white dress shirt. He didn't enjoy torture. He viewed it as a failure of intelligence, a crude tool for blunt minds. But survival dictated necessity.
“I’ll ask you one last time,” Alessandro said, pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher. He took a slow sip. “Who gave you the aconite?”
“I don’t know his name!” Danny sobbed, straining against the zip-ties cutting into his wrists. “I swear to God, Mr. DeLuca! He was a ghost. He approached me three weeks ago. Knew about my gambling debts. Knew about the bookies threatening to break my legs. He paid them off. Said all I had to do was slip a powder into your morning coffee.”
“Describe him,” Matteo ordered, stepping out from the shadows holding a pair of heavy iron pliers.
Danny swallowed hard, his eyes wide with terror. “Tall. Wore a custom suit, dark blue. Had a silver ring on his right index finger with a black stone. He spoke softly... like he was educated. Like he belonged in your world, not mine.”
Alessandro froze. The glass of water in his hand remained perfectly still, but the knuckles gripping it turned white.
A silver ring with a black stone. Onyx.
It was a family crest ring. There were only three in existence. Alessandro wore one. His deceased father had worn the second. The third belonged to Lorenzo, his cousin, his blood, the man he had treated like a brother and elevated to the position of underboss.
A cold, hollow ache settled in Alessandro's chest. Betrayal by an enemy was expected. Betrayal by blood was a wound that could not be stitched.
“Lorenzo,” Alessandro whispered, the name tasting like ash in his mouth.
“What do we do with him?” Matteo asked, gesturing to the sobbing cook.
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“He’s a pawn,” Alessandro said coldly, turning away. “But pawns who try to kill the king don't get to stay on the board. Handle it, Matteo. Then assemble the inner circle. We are having a family dinner tonight.”
As Alessandro walked up the stone stairs, leaving Danny to his fate, his mind raced. Lorenzo was ambitious, yes, but cowardly. He wouldn't make a move like this unless he had backing. He needed to flush the traitors out all at once. But first, he had to secure the only two innocent people in his house.
