Chapter 6 - THE INTERROGATION
Z
The meat locker beneath La Bella was freezing, the air thick with the metallic scent of raw beef and the sharp tang of ammonia. It was a place designed to keep things dead, but right now, it was being used to keep a man barely alive. The mercenary we had captured, a scarred, muscular man in his late thirties, was zip-tied to a heavy steel chair in the center of the room, shivering violently. His shattered kneecap was bleeding sluggishly onto the frost-covered floor, and his breath plumed in the freezing air.
Vincent stood over him, his face devoid of anything resembling human empathy. I stood in the corner, leaning against a frozen side of beef, watching the monster I used to serve tea to fully unleash himself. I had seen violence in Mexico, but the cold, calculated cruelty of Vincent Costanza was something entirely different. It was terrifyingly precise.
"I’m going to ask you one more time," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a low, soothing baritone that was infinitely scarier than a shout. He casually picked up a heavy, steel meat hook from a nearby table. "Where is Julian?"
The mercenary spat a wad of bloody saliva onto Vincent’s shoes. "Screw you, Costanza. You're a dead man walking. Julian owns the city now. You’re just too stupid to lie down in your grave."
Vincent didn't blink. He didn't yell. He just sighed, a sound of genuine disappointment, and swung the heavy steel hook. He didn't hit the man's head; he drove the curved, wicked point directly into the meat of the man's uninjured thigh, tearing through muscle and pinning his leg to the chair. The mercenary shrieked, a high, agonizing wail that echoed off the frozen walls, his body convulsing in pure torment.
"I don't have time for loyalty," Vincent whispered, twisting the hook slightly. "Loyalty to Julian is a bad investment. He leaves his pawns to die. You know this. Where is he?"
"Please! Please!" The man sobbed, his tough exterior breaking completely under the excruciating pain. "He’s at the Grand Copley Hotel! He’s hosting a summit tonight. The coronation. He’s gathering all the capos, all the corrupt judges, the politicians. He’s forcing them to swear fealty tonight, to solidify the transition of power. If you don't show up... you officially lose the throne. It’s over!"
Vincent pulled the hook out with a sickening squelch. The man slumped forward, weeping uncontrollably.
"What time?" Vincent demanded.
"Nine o'clock. The main ballroom. The entire place is locked down. Fifty armed men. You can't get close, Costanza. It’s a fortress."
Vincent looked at me, his eyes dark and calculating. He threw the bloody hook onto the table and turned his back on the weeping mercenary. He walked out of the freezer, and I followed him into the dimly lit basement hallway.
"He’s right," I said, keeping my voice low. "Fifty men? You’re injured. We are two people against an army. Walking into the Grand Copley tonight is literal suicide, Vincent."
Vincent leaned against the brick wall, rubbing his temple, leaving a smear of the mercenary’s blood on his skin. "If I don't go, Julian becomes the undisputed king. Once the judges and the politicians kiss his ring, I become a fugitive in my own city. I will be hunted for the rest of my life. And so will you." He looked at me, a strange vulnerability briefly flashing in his eyes. "You could run, Micah. Take the SUV. Take the cash from the safehouse. Go back to being a ghost. You don't owe me your life."
I stared at him. The offer was genuine. I could disappear again. I could find another city, another rich man's house, another quiet corner to hide in. But as I looked at Vincent, bleeding, desperate, yet completely unbroken, I realized something fundamental had changed inside me. I was tired of hiding. I was tired of scrubbing away the blood of powerful men. I wanted to be the one holding the gun.
"I tried hiding," I said softly. "It didn't work. The monsters always find you." I stepped closer, meeting his intense gaze without flinching. "We don't go in through the front door. We don't fight fifty men. We cut the head off the snake in front of everyone. We make a spectacle out of Julian."
Vincent’s lips curled into a slow, dark smile. "I always knew you were dangerous, Micah. I just didn't realize how much I was going to like it." He pushed himself off the wall, the pain in his shoulder seemingly forgotten, replaced by a ruthless determination. "Julian likes grand gestures. He likes high society. Which means tonight is a black-tie event."
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"And how exactly are we getting past fifty armed guards at a black-tie event?" I challenged.
"Because, my dear," Vincent said, pulling out his burner phone, "while Julian may have bought my capos, he forgot that I still own the catering company."
