I scan the area, noticing how empty it is. “Where’s Alessandro?”
“Ah, Mr. Ricci had urgent business elsewhere. You’ll be handling this solo.” His satisfaction is obvious. “Leadership is often a solitary responsibility, after all.”
The bastard planned this.
He wants me isolated, wants to see if I crack under pressure without my partner’s steadying presence.
“Your objective is simple,” Dominic explains as we approach the warehouse entrance. His cologne hits me in a wave—it’s so damn strong that it makes my stomach turn. “We have a former military intelligence officer who’s been feeding information to our competitors. Captain Marcus Torres. Three days of conventional interrogation have yielded nothing.”
“What kind of information?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. My palms are starting to sweat.
“Details about a pharmaceutical shipment we’re planning to intercept. Location, timing, security protocols.” Dominic’s smile is anything but friendly. “He has what we need. Your job is to extract it.”
Vitelli nods approvingly. “The captain is professionally trained to resist interrogation. This will be a true test of your…creative abilities.”
My mouth goes dry.
This isn’t like the execution of Torrino.
That was child’s play compared to this.
This requires sustained psychological pressure, breaking someone down piece by piece.
What if I can’t do it?
What if I freeze up like I did during the warehouse operation?
Inside, they lead me through corridors that smell of concrete dust and industrial cleaning chemicals.
Each step echoes off the bare walls, making me hyperaware of my own footsteps.
My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it.
“He’s been isolated for seventy-two hours,” Marconi explains as we walk. “Minimal sleep, basic nutrition, no human contact except for necessity. He should be psychologically vulnerable, but his training is extensive.”
“Remember,” Dominic says quietly, his breath reeking of coffee and that awful cologne, “leadership requires the ability to break people when necessary. This is your chance to prove you have what it takes.”
I nod. Taking a deep breath, I push open the door and step inside.
The interrogation room is typical and about what I expected—soundproofed walls, adjustable lighting, one-way mirror, and a steel chair bolted to the floor.
But seeing it in person makes my butterflies erupt in my stomach.
Behind that mirror, I know they’ll all be watching, judging every move I make.
In that chair sits Captain Marcus Torres.
He’s maybe forty-five, graying at the temples but still fit.
His clothes are rumpled from three days of captivity, stubble darkening his jaw, but his posture radiates military confidence.
When he looks at me, there’s no fear in his expression—just amused disdain.
“They’re sending children now?” he asks, voice carrying the kind of authority that comes from commanding men in combat. “What’s next, toddlers with toy guns?” He laughs, his voice raspy.
Break his fingers,Giuseppe snarls immediately.Start with pain.
He’s underestimating you,Sophia whispers.Use that against him.
