Chapter 4 - The Confession in the Bunker
The main security bunker was located in the reinforced basement beneath the grand foyer. It was a windowless, concrete-reinforced control center filled with monitors displaying every angle of the sprawling estate grounds.
When Luca and I pushed open the heavy steel door, Marcus Vance was sitting at the primary monitoring desk, sipping a cup of black coffee.
He looked up as we entered, his expression calm, professional, and entirely unbothered.
"Boss," Marcus said, nodding respectfully. "You're up early. Everything alright with the kids?"
I stopped three feet from his chair. I didn't draw my weapon. I didn't raise my voice. I simply stared at him, letting the heavy silence of the bunker press down on the room like a physical weight.
Marcus maintained eye contact for a few seconds too long before a flicker of doubt crossed his hardened features.
"Is something wrong?" he asked again, his voice dropping slightly.
"Three devices," I said quietly. "High-frequency audio transmitters and nervous-system pulse generators. Planted beneath my children's mattresses."
Marcus’s face didn't pale. He didn't gasp. But his right hand twitched instinctively toward the service knife strapped to his belt.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Moretti," Marcus said smoothly. "Someone must have breached the perimeter—"
"The access logs don't lie, Marcus," Luca interrupted, slamming a printed diagnostic report onto the metal desk right in front of him. "Your biometric badge. 2:14 AM three nights ago. Service elevator directly to the nursery wing. And a nice little half-million-dollar deposit from a Vanguard shell corporation sitting comfortably in a Swiss account."
Marcus stared at the paper. The game was up.
Slowly, the professional mask slipped away, revealing the bitter, resentful man hiding underneath. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a harsh, humorless laugh.
"You think you own everyone, Adrien," Marcus spat, his voice dripping with venom. "You buy loyalty with expensive suits and mafia handouts, treating us like your personal lapdogs while you sit up in your mansion playing emperor."
"I saved your life in Mexico," I reminded him, my voice dangerously calm. "I pulled you out of a ditch, paid your medical bills, and gave you a life with more money than your grandchildren could spend."
"You bought my servitude!" Marcus shouted, slamming his fist onto the desk. "I was a trained federal operative, and I spent eight years watching security monitors for a glorified thug! Petrov offered me freedom. He offered me a clean break and enough cash to disappear to South America."
"And in exchange, you tortured my three-year-old children," I said, stepping closer until I was towering over his chair.
Marcus sneered. "They’re kids. They’ll get over it. But your empire won't."
I didn't yell. I didn't hit him.
I simply reached down, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with one hand, hoisted him straight out of his chair, and slammed him against the reinforced concrete wall with a sickening thud.
"You think Petrov is going to let you retire in South America?" I whispered into his ear, my voice like crushed ice. "Men like Petrov don't pay traitors. They eliminate liabilities."
Marcus’s eyes widened with sudden, dawning terror as the reality of his stupidity finally caught up with him. "Adrien, wait—please, we can make a deal—"
"There are no deals for traitors," I said.
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I signaled to Luca with a flick of my eyes.
"Lock him in the lower holding cells," I ordered, releasing my grip and letting Marcus slide down the concrete wall like a broken doll. "And get our encrypted comms team online. It’s time we pay Viktor Petrov a little visit of our own."
