Chapter 8 - The Interrogation in the Master Stateroom
By 2:30 AM, the Sovereign had docked at the private De Luca maritime terminal at Dodge Island.
Black armored Suburbans lined the concrete pier, their engines idling in low, menacing hums while forty armed soldiers secured the perimeter.
In the terminal’s executive conference room, Antonio Vance—Camilla’s father—sat handcuffed to a heavy oak chair under the blinding glare of overhead industrial lights.
The seventy-year-old shipping tycoon was shivering in his wrinkled linen suit, his patrician face collapsed in ruin, his gold watch stripped away and sitting on the metal table before him.
The heavy steel door swung open.
Matteo walked into the room, followed by Maeve.
Maeve had changed into a tailored ivory silk pantsuit that draped gracefully over her slender frame, her dark hair swept up in an elegant knot, the raw Burmese ruby set into an antique platinum mounting resting prominently on her index finger.
When Antonio Vance saw the ruby, he choked on his own breath, his eyes wide with ancient terror.
“The Star...” Antonio gasped, his voice cracking into a ragged wheeze. “Vincent De Luca’s stone.”
“My father’s stone,” Maeve said, stopping three paces from the chair.
Antonio looked up at Matteo, weeping with desperate, groveling humility.
“Don Matteo, I beg you! It was an old feud! The Antwerp docks were chaotic in 2014! I didn't want Vincent killed! My captains panicked when the alarm tripped!”
Matteo didn't shout. He pulled up an iron stool, sitting down directly across from the broken tycoon.
He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped, staring at Antonio with cold, mathematical finality.
“Your daughter sliced my wife’s spine on my ship tonight, Antonio,” Matteo whispered.
Antonio broke into violent sobs, his forehead hitting the cold metal table.
“I will give you everything! The container berths in Genoa! The dry docks in Naples! Sixty million dollars in bearer bonds! Just keep Camille out of federal prison!”
Matteo stood up slowly, looking down at the groveling billionaire as if he were a piece of discarded ballast.
“Camilla will serve every day of her twenty-four years, Antonio,” Matteo said, each word falling like an iron anvil. “And you will spend the rest of your life in an adjoining cell at Coleman.”
He looked at Marco.
“Deliver Antonio Vance to the federal marshals waiting at the gate. Transfer all seventy-four Vance maritime leases into the De Luca Maritime Corporation.”
He turned back to Maeve, offering his arm with deep, absolute reverence.
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“Come, my Donna. It is time to unveil your work.”
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