Chapter 55 - The Secret Benefactor
The realization hung between us like a suspended blade. If the benefactor who helped me escape five years ago wasn't acting out of mercy, but rather playing a decades-long game of chess, then Maya’s entire existence had been weaponized from the start.
"We need to see what Antonio knows," Vincent decided, straightening his jacket. "He claimed there was a trigger file. But if Aegis Holdings controls the trust, Antonio might not even have the codes. He might be bluffing to stay alive."
"I'm coming with you," I said firmly.
Vincent shook his head. "No. The holding cells are three levels beneath the foundation. It’s no place for you, and Maya cannot be left alone."
"She’s asleep, and your personal guards are outside the door," I insisted, crossing my arms. "Antonio told me in the Grand Hall that the walls have teeth. If someone inside this house funded my escape, they know my face, Vincent. They know what documents I was handed five years ago. Antonio will lie to you out of spite. But he might slip up if he sees me."
Vincent stared at me for a long moment, evaluating the steel in my gaze. He slowly exhaled, a begrudging respect gleaming in his dark eyes. "Five minutes. And you stay behind me at all times."
He tapped his earpiece, ordering his two most trusted lieutenants, Marco and Dante, to stand inside the penthouse bedroom to guard Maya’s bedside. Once the perimeter was secured, we took the private elevator down into the sub-basement.
The air grew cold and damp as the elevator descended. When the doors slid open, the scent of wet concrete, iron, and stale water filled the narrow corridor. This was the dungeon of the Moretti empire—a soundproof labyrinth built during the Prohibition era and updated with modern steel gates.
Two guards stood outside Cell 4. They snapped to attention, their hands instantly moving away from their holsters when they saw Vincent.
"Unlock it," Vincent commanded.
The heavy magnetic bolt disengaged with a sharp clank. Vincent pushed the door open.
Inside, Antonio was sitting on a metal bench, his hands cuffed to an iron ring embedded in the concrete floor. His face was bruised, but his eyes were wide, staring in frantic horror at the far corner of the ceiling.
"Antonio," Vincent began coldly.
Antonio didn't look at Vincent. He looked straight at me, his breath coming in shallow, wheezing gasps.
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"You shouldn't have brought her here," Antonio whispered, his voice trembling—not with anger, but with genuine terror. "The cameras... they went dark three minutes ago."
Before Vincent could draw his weapon, the reinforced door behind us slammed shut, and the heavy bolt slammed home.
