The basement of Marcus Cohen’s mansion smelled like rust, damp concrete, and old blood.
Leo Valentino stood at the bottom of the narrow staircase, staring at the iron door in front of him. A single yellow bulb flickered above, casting long shadows across the walls.
Behind that door was Tony Capo.
Once his best friend.
Now a traitor chained to a chair.
Leo exhaled slowly and pushed the door open.
The hinges creaked like a warning.
Tony sat in the center of the room, wrists bound to the arms of a metal chair, ankles chained to the floor. His lip was split from their fight in the alley, dried blood dark against his skin.
When he saw Leo, Tony let out a weak laugh.
“Well, look who they sent.”
Leo shut the door behind him.
Marcus’s voice from earlier echoed in his mind.
“Get the truth out of him.”
“Find the rest of my shipment.”
“And if he lies… you know what to do.”
Leo walked slowly toward the chair.
Tony tilted his head.
“You here to play executioner?”
Leo stopped in front of him.
“Where’s the crate?”
Tony shrugged.
“Somewhere safe.”
Leo’s patience was thin.
“You sold it?”
Tony smiled crookedly.
“Maybe.”
Leo grabbed Tony by the collar and slammed him back against the chair.
The metal legs scraped violently across the floor.
“Where,” Leo repeated, voice low, “is Marcus’s whiskey?”
Tony chuckled despite the pain.
“You always did take this job too seriously.”
Leo’s fist slammed into his stomach.
Tony doubled over with a cough.
The room fell silent except for Tony’s ragged breathing.
After a moment, Tony lifted his head again.
“You know what’s funny?”
Leo didn’t respond.
Tony’s eyes gleamed.
“You still think Marcus is the good guy.”
Leo’s jaw tightened.
“This isn’t about Marcus.”
“No?” Tony laughed hoarsely. “Everything in this city is about Marcus.”
Leo stepped back slightly.
“Tell me where the crate is.”
Tony leaned against the chair, studying him.
“You ever wonder about your parents?”
The question hit like a punch.
Leo’s expression hardened.
“Leave them out of this.”
Tony’s smile widened.
“That’s what you think happened, right?”
Leo’s voice dropped dangerously.
“Shut up.”
Tony ignored him.
“You think they died in some random gang shootout.”
Leo’s hand clenched.
Tony leaned forward as far as the chains allowed.
“But they didn’t.”
Leo’s chest tightened.
“What are you talking about?”
Tony laughed quietly.
“They didn’t die in a shootout.”
Leo grabbed him again.
“Then how did they die?”
Tony stared directly into his eyes.
“Marcus killed them.”
The words echoed in the small basement like a gunshot.
For a moment, Leo didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t think.
Then he shoved Tony back violently.
“You’re lying.”
Tony shrugged.
“Am I?”
Leo’s voice was raw.
“My parents worked at a factory.”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “A factory Marcus owned.”
Leo froze.
Tony continued calmly.
“They found something they weren’t supposed to.”
“What?”
Tony smirked.
“The truth about Marcus’s business.”
Leo’s mind spun.
Bootlegging.
Illegal alcohol.
Violence.
But that was common knowledge.
“What truth?” Leo demanded.
Tony’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“The poison.”
Leo blinked.
“What?”
Tony leaned closer.
“Marcus doesn’t just sell whiskey.”
Leo felt his stomach twist.
“He cuts it.”
“Cuts it?”
“With chemicals,” Tony said. “Cheap alcohol. Industrial stuff.”
Leo shook his head slowly.
“That’s bullshit.”
Tony smiled again.
“Your parents worked on the shipping floor, remember?”
Leo didn’t answer.
“They saw the barrels,” Tony continued. “Saw what was inside.”
Leo’s breathing became uneven.
“They threatened to report it.”
The room felt suddenly smaller.
“Marcus doesn’t tolerate threats,” Tony finished.
Leo’s fist slammed into the wall beside Tony’s head.
Concrete cracked slightly under the impact.
“You’re lying,” Leo said again.
Tony’s voice softened.
“Search your memories.”
Leo hated that tone.
“Your parents died two days after they told their boss about the chemicals.”
Leo’s heart pounded violently.
“That boss,” Tony said quietly, “worked for Marcus.”
The basement fell silent again.
Leo stepped back slowly.
Images flashed through his mind.
His mother’s worried face.
His father whispering late at night.
Then the news.
The fire.
The bodies.
A “tragic accident.”
Tony watched his reaction with satisfaction.
“Funny thing is,” Tony continued, “you’ve been working for the man who killed them.”
Leo’s world tilted.
For years, Marcus Cohen had been the man who fed him.
Protected him.
Gave him work when he had nothing.
And now—
Tony laughed weakly.
“You really didn’t know?”