Chapter 7 - THE INTERROGATION OF ARTHUR
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The basement beneath the Romano lakeside estate was not a wine cellar.
It was a subterranean bunker constructed during the nineteen-seventies, sealed behind three-inch reinforced steel doors.
The walls were raw concrete, damp and soundproofed with thick lead insulation.
A single overhead halogen bulb hung from a rusted conduit, swaying gently in the draft from the ventilation grate.
In the center of the concrete floor, Arthur was strapped to a heavy iron chair with steel cable ties.
His nose was broken, his left eye swollen shut, and four fingers on his right hand were bound in bloody gauze.
He was shivering violently in his ruined black driver’s uniform.
The heavy blast door swung open with a hydraulic hiss that sounded like a tomb unsealing.
Gabriel walked into the chamber, having changed into a dark turtleneck and black leather combat boots.
I stood just inside the threshold, wrapped in Gabriel’s heavy wool overcoat, my splinted arm held safely against my ribs.
Gabriel had not wanted me to come down here.
He had told me to rest in the master suite upstairs.
I had refused.
I told him that if Arthur had threatened my father’s life to my face, I had the right to watch him pay the bill.
Gabriel had studied my eyes for three seconds before stepping aside to let me follow him down the stairs.
Arthur looked up through his swollen eye, flinching in absolute terror as Gabriel approached.
“Don Gabriel... please,” Arthur choked out, spit and blood dripping onto his chest.
“I gave you the names.”
“I told Marco everything about Vittorio and Donna Elena.”
Gabriel stopped three feet from the chair, folding his hands behind his back.
“You told Marco what you thought would keep you alive, Arthur,” Gabriel said, his voice flat as an empty grave.
“Now you are going to tell my wife why you laid hands on her.”
Arthur’s gaze darted to me, and for the first time, I saw the arrogance drain completely from his features.
He saw me standing in Gabriel’s personal coat, guarded by two armed syndicate lieutenants.
He realized that the woman he had tried to crush in the cellar was not an outcast maid.
She was the mistress of the house.
“Mrs. Romano,” Arthur whispered, his voice cracking with dry panic.
“I was following orders.”
“Vittorio told me that Gabriel had agreed to the divorce.”
“He told me that Donna Elena had already signed the settlement papers.”
“He said you were trying to steal the silver on your way out of the estate tonight!”
Gabriel’s boot lashed out with blinding, explosive speed.
The heavy sole caught Arthur square in the center of his chest.
The iron chair tipped backward, crashing onto the concrete floor with a bone-jarring metallic slam.
Arthur let out a strangled wheeze as the wind was driven completely from his lungs.
Gabriel stepped onto the iron frame of the fallen chair, leaning down until his shadow smothered the gasping man.
“Do not speak my wife’s name with lies in your mouth, Arthur,” Gabriel snarled, his voice vibrating with lethal venom.
“My uncle doesn't have the authority to sign a grocery receipt in this city without my seal.”
“You knew the silver was being moved to the Marchesi docks.”
“You knew Vittorio had made a deal with Carlo Marchesi to split the shipping manifests next month.”
Arthur coughed weakly, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks.
“Yes!” Arthur wept, shaking against the concrete.
“Yes, God forgive me, yes!”
“Vittorio promised me two hundred thousand dollars and a safe house in Costa Rica!”
“He said Carlo Marchesi had three council members on his payroll who were ready to back Vittorio as Don!”
“He said the only thing keeping the council loyal to you was the old family alliance with the Hayes construction company!”
I stared at Arthur in shock, the final pieces of the grand conspiracy snapping into terrifying focus.
My father’s business wasn't just a bankrupt contractor Gabriel had saved out of pity.
My father held the municipal dredging contracts for the entire Port of Chicago.
By marrying me, Gabriel had locked down the legal, federally inspected shipping channels that the rival mafia families couldn't touch.
Vittorio had tried to destroy our marriage not out of family pride, but to tear down Gabriel’s legal empire from within.
Gabriel stepped off the chair and nodded to Marco.
Marco grabbed the iron backrest and hauled the chair upright with a single grunt of effort.
“Where is the meeting taking place tonight, Arthur?” Gabriel asked, pulling a silver cigarette case from his pocket.
Arthur swallowed hard, his voice trembling like autumn leaves.
“The abandoned grain silo near Slip Four.”
“At three in the morning.”
“Vittorio is meeting Carlo Marchesi to confirm the silver was delivered and the Hayes contracts were voided.”
Gabriel checked his platinum wristwatch.
It was one-fifteen in the morning.
He lit his cigarette with a crisp flick of a gold lighter, exhaling a thin stream of gray smoke toward the high concrete ceiling.
“Thank you for your honesty, Arthur,” Gabriel said calmly.
“Are you... are you going to let me go, Don Gabriel?” Arthur sobbed, a pathetic glimmer of hope in his eyes.
Gabriel looked at him through the smoke, his dark eyes colder than the Lake Michigan ice.
“You threatened an old man in his sleep, Arthur.”
“And you fractured the hand of the Donna of Chicago.”
Gabriel turned his back and walked toward the heavy blast door, extending his arm to guide me out of the room.
“Marco,” Gabriel called out over his shoulder.
May you like
“Clean the floor when you're finished.”
The heavy steel door slid shut behind us, cutting off Arthur’s frantic, desperate screams forever.
