Chapter 8 - The Interrogation in the StudyBy 4:00 AM, the sirens of thirty federal tactical vehicles and state police cruisers echoed through the rain-slicked streets of Lake Forest.
The estate’s perimeter had been secured.
All eight mercenaries sent by Don Salvatore Bellini had been neutralized or captured, their weapons tagged as federal evidence.
In the subterranean wine cellar beneath the mansion, Marco Bellini sat zip-tied to a heavy oak chair, shivering violently in his torn tuxedo.
Across the room, Vanessa sat huddled on a wooden bench, wrapped in a coarse gray prison blanket, her mascara running in black streaks down her pale, defeated face.
The heavy iron cellar door clicked open.
Luca walked in, followed by Federal Prosecutor Marcus Vance and two federal marshals holding digital recording devices.
Luca pulled up a wooden stool, sitting down directly in front of Marco.
He didn't yell. He didn't raise his fists.
He simply set a printed document onto Marco’s lap.
It was a satellite surveillance photograph taken twenty minutes earlier of the private airstrip at Waukegan Regional Airport.
The photograph showed Don Salvatore Bellini—Marco and Vanessa’s father—being pinned to the tarmac in handcuffs by federal tactical agents as he attempted to board a private Gulfstream jet bound for Panama.
Marco stared at the photograph.
A hollow, broken sob tore from his throat.
“Dad...?” Marco whimpered.
“Your father left you behind, Marco,” Luca said, his voice flat as ice. “He had two suitcases filled with bearer bonds and a passport under a false name. He was going to let you and Vanessa take the fall for the entire conspiracy while he lived in a villa in Central America.”
Vanessa began to scream, clutching her face, rocking back and forth on the bench in sheer, unadulterated hysteria.
“He lied to us!” Vanessa shrieked. “He told me that if I married Luca, we would control the entire Midwest! He told me the crash was just an accident!”
“You signed the invoice for the severed brake cable, Vanessa,” Prosecutor Vance interjected coldly, stepping forward with his badge. “Under federal law, that makes you a co-conspirator to attempted premeditated murder and domestic terrorism.”
Vance looked at Marco.
“Your only hope of avoiding a mandatory life sentence at ADX Florence is to provide a complete, unredacted video confession right now. Every wire transfer. Every crooked judge. Every corrupt police officer on your father’s payroll.”
Marco looked up at Luca’s dark, pitiless face.
He saw no mercy. No hesitation. Only the cold, absolute finality of an empire being crushed beneath an iron heel.
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Marco lowered his head, tears dripping onto the photograph on his lap.
“Get the camera,” Marco whispered. “I’ll tell you everything.”
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