Chapter 6 - The Interrogation in the Dark
Deep beneath the fortified limestone foundations of the Moretti estate, far below the wine cellars and the tactical command center, lay a soundproofed detention facility that few outsiders knew existed.
Nikolai Petrov sat chained to a heavy iron chair bolted directly into the poured concrete floor. His broken wrist had been crudely bandaged by a syndicate medic, but the throbbing pain was nothing compared to the psychological dread of knowing where he was. The air smelled of damp stone, old rust, and fear.
The heavy steel security door swung open with a slow, grinding screech.
Dante Moretti stepped into the stark fluorescent glare of the cell, wearing a dark wool coat, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He didn't look like a man who had nearly lost everything three weeks ago; he looked like a predator who had successfully caged his prey and was now deciding how to dispose of the remains.
“Petrov,” Dante said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
Petrov lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. “Moretti... you think you've won. You think locking me down here ends it. New York is already asking questions. My associates know I met with you.”
“Your associates in New York are currently answering questions from my own people,” Dante replied smoothly, stepping closer to the chair. “By sunrise, every shell corporation, shipping route, and money-laundering front bearing the Petrov name across three continents will be seized, liquidated, or redirected to my accounts.”
“You can’t seize everything!” Petrov snarled, straining against the heavy iron chains. “We have political protection in Washington! We have—"
“You had protection when people feared your name,” Dante interrupted, his voice dropping into a chillingly calm cadence. “Now, your name is poison. And you are going to sign over every remaining asset, digital key, and offshore trust you own before we finish this conversation.”
“And if I refuse?” Petrov spat defiantly.
Dante leaned down, bringing his face inches from the battered mercenary. “Then I will leave you down here in the dark, where nobody will ever find you, and let Marcus handle your legacy piece by piece.”
Petrov stared into Dante’s eyes, reading the absolute, unyielding promise of eternal oblivion behind them. The defiance in the older man’s posture collapsed, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
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“Where... where do I sign?” Petrov whispered.
Dante straightened up, stepping back toward the door without looking back. “Marcus will bring the paperwork in five minutes. Cooperate, and I might let you see a sunrise in federal custody before you die of old age.”
