Chapter 3 - THE INTERROGATION IN THE BASEMENTThe basement beneath the four-car garage of the Vale estate did not exist on any architectural blueprints filed with the city of Chicago.
It was a windowless, concrete bunker constructed forty years earlier by Dominic’s father—a room built with reinforced rebar walls, heavy soundproof insulation, and a drain set into the center of the sloping floor. It smelled of damp earth, rust, and old hydraulic fluid.
A single overhead bulb hung from a frayed wire, swaying gently, casting harsh, moving shadows across the grey concrete.
Bound to a heavy iron chair in the middle of the room sat Mara Bell.
Her maid’s apron had been removed, leaving her in a plain dark dress. Her hair was matted with sweat, and a dark purple bruise was forming along her jaw where Dominic had pinned her to the nursery floor. Yet, despite her restraint, the terrified, weeping housemaid was completely gone.
She sat upright, her chin tilted up, a cold, mocking smile playing across her thin lips.
The heavy steel door groaned on its hinges as Dominic walked in, followed closely by Evelyn.
Dominic had stripped off his suit jacket, rolling his white shirt sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the dark, intricate tattoos that covered his forearms—symbols of the Vale family’s thirty-year reign over the city’s underbelly. In his right hand, he carried a heavy wooden chair, which he unfolded and placed three feet in front of Mara.
He sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees, staring at the woman who had lived in his house for three years.
Evelyn stood in the shadows near the closed steel door, her arms folded across her chest, watching quietly.
“You have five minutes, Mara,” Dominic said, his tone shockingly gentle—a calm before a hurricane. “Five minutes to tell me every name, every meeting location, and every drop point associated with Arthur Hart’s operation in this city.”
Mara let out a short, barking laugh that echoed harshly against the concrete walls.
“Or what, Dominic?” she taunted, spitting onto the floor near his shoes. “You’ll shoot me? You’ll break my fingers? I was raised in the northern tenements. I’ve seen men like you my whole life. You think you’re a king because you wear ten-thousand-dollar suits and live behind wrought-iron gates. But you’re blind. You were so blind you let me feed that little bastard poison for three weeks right under your nose!”
Dominic didn't flinch. He didn't raise his hand. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out the small glass vial Evelyn had secured from the laundry room, along with Mara’s burner phone.
“The phone was unlocked by my comms team twenty minutes ago,” Dominic said smoothly. “We recovered the deleted text logs. You weren't just taking money from Arthur Hart, Mara. You were sending him floor plans of the estate, guard shift rotations, and the security codes to the armory in the east wing.”
Mara’s smirk faltered slightly, her eyes darting toward the phone in his hand.
“Arthur promised you two hundred thousand dollars and a clean identity in Florida once the child was dead,” Dominic continued, his voice dropping an octave. “He told you that once Noah was gone, the Vale bloodline would be reduced to me. And he had a plan for me, didn't he?”
Mara kept her mouth shut, her jaw clenching tight.
Evelyn stepped forward out of the shadows. The pale light of the hanging bulb hit her face, illuminating the cold, sharp intelligence in her eyes.
“Tell him about the secondary contract, Mara,” Evelyn said quietly.
Mara glared at Evelyn with pure hatred. “Shut your mouth, you disgraced doctor! You’re nothing! Your own father traded you like a piece of livestock!”
“He did,” Evelyn agreed without a trace of anger or shame in her voice. “My father is a monster who uses human beings until they break. But I know how his mind works, Mara. You thought you were going to Florida with two hundred thousand dollars. But tell me... did you check the balance on the offshore account he set up for you?”
Mara’s brow furrowed slightly. “The money was wired on the first of the month.”
“The money was routed through a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands,” Evelyn corrected, stepping closer to the iron chair. “A shell company that filed for bankruptcy forty-eight hours ago. The account doesn't exist, Mara. Arthur Hart never intended to pay you. The moment Noah died, Arthur’s men were scheduled to eliminate you on your way to the airport.”
“Liar!” Mara snarled, straining against the heavy zip-ties securing her wrists to the chair legs. “He swore to me! He gave me his word!”
“Arthur Hart’s word is worth as much as the paper my medical license was printed on,” Evelyn said, her tone dripping with quiet, devastating logic. “Think about it, Mara. You knew too much. You knew he ordered the hit on Dominic’s brother six months ago.”
The air in the basement went dead cold.
Dominic slowly stood up from his chair. His body went entirely rigid, his eyes fixing on Evelyn’s profile before snapping toward Mara.
“What did you say?” Dominic whispered.
Evelyn didn't look back at him. Her eyes remained locked on Mara’s increasingly pale face.
“The highway explosion six months ago,” Evelyn explained, her voice steady and relentless. “The police called it a tragic mechanical failure—a ruptured brake line on the highway that caused the car to plunge off the overpass. But three days ago, while going through the financial records my father left on his study desk before sending me here, I found a wire transfer. Half a million dollars paid to an auto mechanic in Cicero four days before the explosion.”
Dominic took two slow steps toward Mara. The fury radiating from him was a physical force, a suffocating pressure that filled the bunker.
“Mara,” Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “Did Arthur kill my brother?”
Mara looked at Dominic’s face, and for the very first time since she had been brought down into the basement, real, raw terror flooded her eyes. She saw the absolute death sentence written in his dark eyes. She realized, with blinding clarity, that Evelyn was right—Arthur Hart had used her, manipulated her hatred, and left her to die in this cellar.
“He... he told me it was just going to be a warning,” Mara stammered, her voice shaking violently as tears of genuine fear finally overflowed her lashes. “He said he just wanted to disable the car! He told me your brother was going to agree to the northern merger! I didn't know he was going to blow up the whole vehicle! I swear to God, Mr. Vale! I didn't know!”
“Where is Arthur Hart right now?” Dominic demanded, leaning down until his face was inches from hers.
“He’s... he’s at the Grand Continental Hotel downtown!” Mara sobbed, her composure completely shattered. “Penthouse suite! He’s meeting with the syndicate captains from Toronto at midnight! They’re signing the paper to divide up your shipping routes after the news of Noah’s death broke!”
Dominic straightened up. He took a deep breath, smoothing the cuffs of his white shirt down over his wrists.
“Frank,” Dominic called out toward the steel door.
Frank stepped into the bunker, holding a heavy suppressed pistol at his side.
“Keep her alive until midnight,” Dominic ordered coldly. “If Arthur calls her phone, tell him everything went according to plan. Tell him the child is dead and the Vale estate is in total lockdown.”
“Got it, boss,” Frank nodded grimly.
Dominic turned toward the exit. He reached out, taking Evelyn by the hand, his strong fingers weaving through hers with a fierce, quiet solidarity.
“Come with me,” Dominic said.
May you like
Evelyn looked down at their joined hands, then up into his dark, determined face. “Where are we going?”
“To my study,” Dominic said, pulling her out of the concrete bunker and into the brightly lit corridor above. “If we’re going to war with your father in three hours, Evelyn... I need my strategist by my side.”
