CHAPTER 23 : The Underground

I woke up to the smell of wet ash and rot.

My head was pounding, a rhythmic thudding behind my eyes that matched the dripping of water somewhere nearby. I tried to move my hands. I couldn't.

My wrists were zip-tied to the arms of a heavy metal chair. My ankles were bound to the legs.

I blinked, my vision swimming into focus.

I was in a concrete room. The walls were stained black with soot. The ceiling was low and cracked, with rusted rebar poking through like exposed ribs.

It was a basement. A basement of a building that had burned down a long time ago.

The warehouse.

"You're awake."

I jerked my head up.

Luca Vencetti was sitting on a wooden crate across from me, casually cleaning his fingernails with a small, serrated knife. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling between us, casting long, dancing shadows on his face.

"Where am I?" I croaked, my throat dry as sandpaper.

"You know where you are, Vivian," Luca smiled, standing up. "You found the photo. You did the research. Welcome to V&T Imports. Or rather, what’s left of it."

He gestured to the blackened walls.

"This used to be the heart of our operation. My father and Marcus Thorne built an empire here. Until Julian decided to light a match."

"He said he was saving people," I whispered, testing the strength of the zip ties. They bit into my skin, unyielding.

Luca laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound that echoed off the concrete.

"Is that the story he tells? The tragic hero?" Luca stepped closer, the knife glinting in the light. "Julian didn't burn this place to save anyone. He burned it to bury the evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"Of the vault beneath us." Luca pointed to a heavy steel door in the floor, half-covered by rubble. "Our fathers didn't just import rugs and furniture. They moved... leverage. Gold. blackmail files on every politician in the state. And it’s all still down there."

He leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could smell the expensive cologne masking the scent of the damp room.

"When the partnership dissolved, the deed to this land—and the vault—was put in a blind trust for the Witness. Your mother."

"She didn't want it," I said, my voice shaking. "She was a schoolteacher."

"She was the accountant, Vivian. She knew where every body was buried. That’s why she had to die."

Luca dragged the flat of the knife blade down my cheek. I flinched, pressing my head back against the chair.

"Julian didn't try to save her that night on the highway," Luca whispered. "He was the one who ran her off the road. He needed her dead so the trust would transfer to the next of kin. To the daughter."

"Liar," I spat. "He didn't know I existed until Caleb sold me."

"Oh, he knew," Luca grinned. "Why do you think he erased your records? Why do you think he watched you for ten years? He was waiting for you to turn eighteen. He was waiting until he could legally force you to sign the transfer."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded document. He slapped it onto my lap.

"Sign it," he commanded. "Sign the land over to me. Give me my heritage back, and I might let you live."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I cut off your fingers, one by one, until you can't hold a pen anymore," Luca said casually. "And then I forge your signature with your blood."

He grabbed my left hand, slamming it onto the armrest. He brought the knife down.

"NO!" I screamed, struggling against the bindings.

"Sign it!" Luca roared, his composure cracking. "Sign it now!"

I stared at the paper. Transfer of Deed: Plot 4B.

If I signed it, he would kill me anyway. If I didn't, he would torture me.

"Go to hell," I whispered.

Luca’s eyes went black. He raised the knife.

BOOM.

The heavy steel door at the top of the stairs, the one leading to the surface—exploded inward.

Dust and debris rained down on us. Luca stumbled back, shielding his eyes.

Through the smoke, a figure emerged. He was silhouetted against the gray light from outside, a dark, hulking shape of pure violence.

He held an assault rifle in one hand, but he didn't look like a soldier. He looked like a reaper.

"Get away from her," a voice growled from the smoke.

It was a voice that made the shadows tremble.

Julian.