Chapter 8 - The Interrogation
The head of security groaned in agony, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the pristine floor.
"I found him trying to wipe the security servers at the mansion," Enzo explained, his chest heaving with rage.
Dominic walked slowly toward the traitor, his heavy boots making no sound on the carpet.
He did not yell, and he did not threaten.
Dominic simply pressed the burning hot barrel of his rifle directly against the man's knee.
"Where is the little girl, Marcus?" Dominic asked, revealing he already knew the ex-husband's real name.
Marcus, the dirty DEA agent and Volkov enforcer, laughed despite his broken ribs.
"You are too late, Moretti," Marcus spat, glaring up at them.
"My men are holding the grandmother and the kid at the abandoned shipyard on Pier 44."
"But they are not waiting for midnight."
Marcus smiled a bloody, sinister smile that made Clara's stomach turn completely upside down.
"I am selling them to the highest bidder in a global cartel auction tonight," Marcus confessed.
"They are already loading the grandmother onto a cargo ship bound for Eastern Europe."
Dominic pulled the trigger without a single microsecond of hesitation.
The silenced rifle coughed, and a bullet shattered Marcus's left kneecap.
Marcus screamed, thrashing wildly on the floor in absolute agony.
"Enzo, get the strike team ready," Dominic commanded, turning his back on the traitor.
"We are going to war with the entire Russian syndicate tonight."
Dominic turned around to hand Clara a small, loaded pistol for her own protection.
But the living room was completely empty.
The front door to the penthouse was hanging wide open, the cold night wind blowing inside.
Clara had slipped out during the interrogation, taking the keys to the backup car.
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She had left a single, desperate note written in crayon on the kitchen counter.
"I have to trade my life for hers," the note read simply.
