Chapter 5 - The Interrogation in the Dark
The basement of The Obsidian smelled of bleach, damp concrete, and old wine barrels.
Dante threw Evelyn forward into the center of a windowless storage room lined with stacked crates of imported champagne and vintage scotch.
In the center of the room stood Lorenzo Moretti.
His tailored dark suit was dusty, and a faint streak of blood cut across his temple from a flying shard of glass, but he stood with terrifying composure. His jacket was open, revealing a holster rig and a Sig Sauer pistol resting in his hand.
Beside him, pushed roughly into a wooden chair, was Celeste. Her hair was disheveled, mascara running down her cheeks as she sobbed hysterically.
“Lory, I swear to God! It was a setup! Marcus forced me! If I didn't help them, they would have killed Papa!” Celeste wailed, clutching at Lorenzo’s sleeve.
Lorenzo didn't look down at her. His dark, piercing eyes were fixed entirely on Evelyn as Dante shoved her into a metal folding chair opposite them.
“Well, well,” Lorenzo said softly, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “The waitress.”
Evelyn swallowed hard, her throat bone-dry. She kept her chin up, refusing to let him see how terrified she was. “I didn't do anything. I just served the wine.”
“You served wine, and then you handed me a death notice written on a cocktail napkin,” Lorenzo countered, taking a slow step toward her. He pulled the crumpled white paper from his pocket and tossed it onto the table between them. “*Your fiancée set a trap. Don't use north exit.* How did you know, Evelyn?”
Her real name. He had checked her employee badge or the payroll roster.
“I saw the text message on her phone,” Evelyn said, deciding truth was her only remaining shield. “When she dropped her bag. I saw the preview: North exit secured. Cleaners in position. 8:55. I knew what kind of men you run with, Mr. Moretti. I knew if I didn't say something, you’d be dead in two minutes. And I didn't want a murder on my conscience.”
Lorenzo studied her face for a long, agonizing moment. He looked for a twitch, a micro-expression of deceit, a sign of hidden allegiance.
Instead, all he saw was raw, exhausted defiance.
“You risked your life to save mine,” Lorenzo said quietly. “Knowing that if my enemies didn't kill you, my own men might.”
“I didn't think that far ahead,” Evelyn muttered honestly. “I just wanted to pay my rent on Friday.”
A faint, humorless smirk touched the corner of Lorenzo’s mouth.
Then, his eyes shifted back to Celeste. The warmth vanished completely from the room, replaced by a polar vortex of malice.
“Your brother Marcus thinks he can step into my territory while I’m distracted by a wedding,” Lorenzo said, his voice dropping an octave. “He thinks a few hired guns from the south side can rewrite the Chicago map.”
“Lory, please—!” Celeste sobbed.
“Dante,” Lorenzo said without looking back.
“Boss?”
“Take her to the Cicero warehouse. Lock her in the cold room until Marcus calls. Then put her on speakerphone so I can tell her brother exactly how I’m going to dismantle his operation piece by piece.”
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Celeste screamed as two guards dragged her chair backward out of the room, her fingernails scraping desperately against the concrete floor until the heavy iron door slammed shut.
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