Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in the CellarThe cellar beneath the Pine Street estate did not smell of wine. It smelled of old concrete, damp stone, and cold iron.
Sadie had not been invited down, but she couldn't sleep. The silence of the massive guest room was too heavy, too foreign. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the giant’s furious face rushing toward her, the glint of the rusted steel bar, and the terrible crack of his knee snapping under the weight of the heavy urn.
She had crept out of her room, her bare feet silent on the thick runners, following the faint sound of voices echoing from the sub-basement.
She stood near the top of the stone stairwell, hidden behind a heavy oak door left slightly ajar.
Down in the center of the concrete room, suspended from a thick wooden beam by two heavy chains wrapped around his wrists, was Gregor.
The giant looked even more terrifying under the harsh fluorescent work light hanging above him. His face was a mask of dark purple bruises and dried blood, his brow stitched together with thick black surgical thread. His left leg hung uselessly, encased in a temporary steel brace, his toes barely touching the concrete floor.
Standing in front of him was Dominic. Nico stood to the side, holding a heavy leather satchel.
“I don't have much patience tonight, Gregor,” Dominic was saying, his voice perfectly level, almost conversational. “You ruined a very expensive pair of shoes, you shot two of my men, and you terrified a young lady who was just trying to do her job.”
Gregor spat a mouthful of dark blood onto the floor near Dominic’s feet. He let out a low, wet laugh that rattled in his broad chest.
“The girl,” Gregor grunted, his English heavily accented and thick. “The little bitch with the tea... where is she? I want to break her fingers one by one.”
Nico stepped forward instantly, raising a heavy brass-knuckled fist, but Dominic held up a hand, stopping him.
“You won't be touching anyone ever again, Gregor,” Dominic said coldly. “Now let’s save us both some time. Who gave you the contract?”
Gregor grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth. “You know how this works, Russo. Contractors don't give up names. If I talk, I’m dead before I reach the state line.”
“If you don't talk,” Dominic replied, stepping closer until he was inches from the giant’s face, “you won't leave this room. Ever. My men will bury you six feet deep under the floorboards of a warehouse in South Philly, and nobody will ever look for you.”
Gregor’s smile faded slightly. He stared into Dominic’s pale, amber-flecked eyes, searching for a trace of hesitation or bluffing. He found none.
“It was done through an intermediary,” Gregor muttered finally, his voice dropping an octave. “A drop box in Manhattan. Half a million in crypto upfront, half a million when I bring back your ring.”
Dominic reached down, touching the heavy gold signet ring on his left pinky finger—the Russo family crest, carved from black onyx and gold.
“Who was the contact person?” Dominic asked.
“I didn't meet him face to face,” Gregor growled. “Just phone calls. Encrypted line. But the guy who set up the drop... he gave me the layout of Lombardi’s. He gave me the security camera blind spots. He gave me the exact time your guards step out to smoke.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“He said he was working for your brother,” Gregor said.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended over the basement.
Up at the top of the stairs, Sadie held her breath, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Nico looked at Dominic, his face pale. “Boss... Julian? It really was Julian?”
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He stared at the giant, his jaw muscles clenching tightly. “What was the contact’s name?”
“He called himself the Courier,” Gregor said, breathing heavily. “Said he handles all the wet work for the family’s legal department. Tall guy. Expensive gray suits. Wears a silver watch with a blue face.”
Dominic froze.
The color slowly drained from his face—not into shock, but into a cold, terrifying rage that made even Nico take a step backward.
“A silver watch,” Dominic whispered. “With a blue face.”
“Yeah,” Gregor grunted. “Kept checking it during our meeting in Newark last week. Said he had to make sure the boss’s schedule was clear for tonight.”
Dominic turned slowly, looking toward the dark corner of the cellar.
“Nico,” Dominic commanded softly.
“Yes, boss?”
“It wasn't Julian.”
Nico blinked, confused. “What? But Gregor just said—”
“Julian doesn't wear a silver watch,” Dominic said, his voice deadly quiet. “Julian is allergic to nickel. He only wears gold. But do you know who wears a silver Rolex with a lapis blue dial every single day of his life?”
Nico’s eyes went wide with sudden, terrifying realization. “Paulie.”
“Paulie,” Dominic repeated.
Paulie—the underboss. The man who had stood at Dominic’s right hand for fifteen years. The man who had carried Dominic’s father’s casket at his funeral. The man who had called in sick thirty minutes before the hit, claiming a flat tire on the interstate.
“Paulie set up the contract,” Dominic said, the words cutting through the damp basement air like a razor blade. “He used Julian’s name so that if the hit succeeded, I’d be dead, Julian would be framed for my murder, and Paulie would step into the vacuum to run the entire city.”
Up on the stairs, Sadie felt her stomach drop.
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The conspiracy wasn't just a simple hit. It was a complete annihilation of the Russo family from the inside out.
And as Dominic pulled his revolver from his holster and checked the cylinder with a sharp, metallic clack, Sadie realized that the bloodiest part of the night hadn't even begun.
