Chapter 7 - The Interrogation of Renata
While the firefight in the courtyard was efficiently wrapped up by my tactical teams, a very different kind of reckoning was taking place two floors below street level in the subterranean holding cells.
The air in the concrete bunker was damp, smelling of cold stone and old fear. A single overhead bulb cast a harsh, yellow pool of light over a steel chair bolted to the floor.
Tied securely to that chair was Renata.
Her immaculate silver hair was disheveled, her high-collared housekeeper’s uniform stained with dust and her own nervous sweat. She was shaking uncontrollably, her eyes darting back and forth between the reinforced steel door and the dark corners of the room.
The heavy door clicked open.
I walked into the cell, my combat boots ringing sharply against the concrete floor. I pulled up a metal chair, sat down directly in front of her, and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at her in silence for a full minute.
“Mr. Duca... please,” Renata whimpered, her voice cracking. “I told you everything. They threatened me! They said if I didn't help them—!”
“You keep saying you didn't have a choice, Renata,” I interrupted, my voice calm, almost conversational. “Let’s talk about choices.”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a small digital recorder, and placed it on the steel table between us. I pressed play.
The tinny audio recording of a phone call began to play back.
“...the girl is definitely here, Mr. Vance,” Renata’s voice echoed clearly through the small cell. “She’s hiding under the name Clara. Plant the clock in her locker tomorrow morning during the breakfast rush. Make sure she’s out on the street by tomorrow night so your men can finish her off cleanly without drawing Lorenzo’s attention.”
The recording clicked off.
Renata stopped breathing. Her face turned the color of ash.
“That... that was edited,” she whispered desperately. “That’s not—!”
“That was pulled directly from your encrypted burner phone, Renata,” I said smoothly, leaning forward. “You didn't just help them because you were threatened. You helped them because you were greedy. They promised you a million-dollar retirement fund tucked away in the Bahamas the moment the Duca estate was cleared of any loose ends.”
I stood up slowly, walking around behind her chair. I leaned down, my mouth close to her ear.
“You watched my parents burn to death twenty-two years ago, didn't you?”
Renata went completely rigid. Every drop of blood seemed to drain from her body.
“You weren't just a loyal employee,” I whispered, the venom in my voice thick enough to kill. “You were the inside informant who gave the syndicate the floor plans of the house on the night of the massacre. You left the side security gate unlocked so the hit squad could walk right in without setting off the alarms.”
“No... no, that’s not true—” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face.
“Don't lie to me,” I snapped, my hand shooting out to grab her by the shoulder, spinning her chair around to face me. “My father trusted you. He gave you a home when you had nothing. And you sold his blood for a paycheck.”
I let go of her shoulder, stepping back and straightening my tactical vest.
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“You’re not going to prison, Renata,” I said coldly. “Prison is too good for you. Tomorrow morning, when the sun comes up, you’re going to be put on a private cargo flight to a place far away from here—somewhere where the syndicate can’t protect you, and where my name doesn't mean a damn thing. You’re going to live out the rest of your miserable life in absolute exile, knowing that everything you betrayed my family for was stripped away before you could even spend a single dime.”
Renata collapsed forward, sobbing uncontrollably, but I didn't look back as I turned and walked out of the holding cell, sealing the heavy steel door behind me.
