Chapter 9 - The Crucible
Isla was dragged into a cold, damp basement beneath an abandoned meatpacking warehouse near the docks. She was tied securely to a wooden chair beneath a single, harsh hanging light bulb.
Don Vincenzo Moretti entered an hour later, pulling up a chair to sit directly across from her. He looked at her torn green dress, her bruised wrists, and the defiant glare in her eyes.
“Where is Dominic’s ledger?” Moretti asked plainly, tapping a silver cane against the concrete floor. “The ledger with the federal accounts and the shipping routes. I know he keeps it at the estate.”
Isla spat blood onto the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Moretti smiled thinly. “My dear, you are a soft little nurse. You spend your days healing people. You have never experienced real pain. In three hours, you will tell me everything, including the combination to his vault.”
For the next four hours, Moretti’s men tried to break her. They threatened her brother Marco, they withheld water, they subjected her to psychological torment and physical intimidation that would have sent strong men weeping to their knees.
Yet, every time they demanded answers, Isla thought of Dominic’s eyes in the dark room, of the scars covering his body, and of the trust he had placed in her. She realized then why she was holding on: she hadn't just accepted his offer—she had fallen in love with the wounded man beneath the king's crown.
“I know nothing,” Isla rasped through split lips, looking Moretti dead in the eye, her voice filled with pure steel. “And even if I did... I would die before I gave you a single word.”
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Moretti’s face twisted in genuine shock and rage. “You fool! He is a mob boss! He will replace you in a week!”
“He won’t have to,” a dark, thunderous voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
