The interrogation room was silent except for the man's uneven breathing. He sat tied to the chair, sweat gathering at his temple, his eyes fixed on the floor as if avoiding reality could somehow protect him from it.
Mr. Romano stood in front of him, quiet for a moment, studying him carefully before speaking.
"You said you are protecting your family," he said calmly.
The man hesitated, then nodded slightly. His voice was weak when he finally spoke. "If I talk… they will kill my family."
That answer made Mr. Romano pause, but not in sympathy. In assessment.
He stepped closer slowly.
"And you believe that is your only threat?" he asked.
The man didn't respond.
A faint, almost unreadable expression crossed Mr. Romano's face before it disappeared again. His voice remained steady, controlled, almost conversational.
"Let me correct that for you," he said quietly.
The man finally looked up.
Mr. Romano continued without raising his voice. "The person you are afraid of… I can reach your family faster than they can."
A silence followed.
Then he added, even more calmly, "Your daughter's name is Maya."
The man's body went still.
Mr. Romano watched the reaction carefully, then continued.
"She attends St. Hilda's Academy," he said. "She arrives at 7:30 in the morning and leaves by 2:00 in the afternoon."
The prisoner's breathing started to change. Faster. Unsteady.
"There is a driver who takes her home on most days," Mr. Romano added. "And sometimes she walks part of the way alone."
The man shook his head slightly. "Stop… please…"
Mr. Romano didn't stop.
His voice stayed low, precise. "We already have people near her school. And one near your home. Watching. Not interfering. Just observing."
The man began to tremble now, fear fully taking over his face.
Mr. Romano tilted his head slightly. "You are afraid someone will kill your family if you talk."
A pause.
Then his tone hardened just a fraction.
"But understand this… I do not need you to talk to reach them."
That line broke something in the room.
The man lifted his head quickly, panic flooding his eyes. "Please… I'll say whatever you want, just don't—"
He stopped suddenly, realizing too late what was happening to him.
Mr. Romano watched him for a moment, then stepped back slightly.
"Now," he said quietly, "you will decide who you fear more."
Silence returned.
Heavy.
Pressing.
And unbearable.
Adrian stepped into the interrogation room quietly, his expression calm and unreadable. The air inside felt thick with tension, heavy with the smell of sweat and fear. The man tied to the chair sat slumped forward, breathing unevenly, his head hanging low as if the weight of his own terror had become too much to carry.
Mr. Romano stood in front of him, silent and watchful, his presence dominating the room. The guards remained alert behind him, waiting for the next command.
"Father," Adrian said respectfully.
Mr. Romano turned slightly, his sharp eyes settling on his son. "What is it?"
Adrian moved closer, his posture relaxed but confident. "You've been here for hours. You should rest," he said evenly. "Let me take over. I will make him talk."
Mr. Romano frowned, glancing back at the prisoner. "He still hasn't given us a name."
"He will," Adrian replied calmly. "But not like this."
For a moment, the two men simply looked at each other. There was no challenge in Adrian's voice, only quiet assurance — the kind that came from someone used to handling difficult matters. After a brief pause, Mr. Romano exhaled slowly, as though surrendering the burden.
"Very well," he said at last. He turned to the guards. "Leave him with Adrian."
One by one, the guards stepped toward the door. Mr. Romano lingered for a second longer, his gaze resting on the prisoner, then he followed them out. The heavy door closed behind him with a dull, final sound.
Silence settled over the room.
Adrian remained where he stood, listening to the man's ragged breathing. The prisoner lifted his head weakly, his eyes filled with fear as they met Adrian's. Recognition flickered there, followed quickly by panic.
"You…" the man whispered hoarsely.
Adrian said nothing. Instead, he walked slowly to the side table and picked up a thick waterproof pillowcase that had been left among the supplies. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as if he were performing a routine task.
The man began to tremble. "Please," he said, his voice breaking. "They forced me. They said they would kill my family if I didn't do it."
Adrian stopped in front of him, his face completely composed. There was no anger in his expression, no visible emotion at all.
"You were paid to keep quiet," he said softly. "And now you will."
Before the man could react, Adrian lifted the pillowcase and pulled it firmly over his head.
The prisoner's body jerked violently as panic took hold. His chest heaved beneath the restraints, legs kicking against the floor as he struggled for air. Muffled sounds escaped from beneath the thick material, desperate and broken.
Adrian held the fabric in place with steady hands, pressing it down without hesitation. He watched carefully as the struggle continued — frantic at first, then slower, weaker. The man's movements gradually lost strength, his breathing fading into shallow, uneven gasps.
Seconds passed. Then more seconds.
Adrian did not rush. He waited until the resistance stopped completely, until the body became still and lifeless beneath his hands. Only then did he remove the pillowcase.
The man's head dropped forward.
Silence returned to the room.
Adrian straightened his coat, his breathing steady, his expression unchanged. Without another glance at the body, he walked toward the door and opened it.
The guards outside stiffened when they saw the motionless figure in the chair. Uneasy looks passed between them, but none of them spoke.
"Call my father," Adrian said calmly.
His voice carried quiet authority, leaving no room for questions.
The interrogation room had gone silent once again.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor, firm and unhurried. Adrian stood near the door, his posture straight, his expression calm as ever. Behind him, the guards shifted uneasily, their eyes drifting again and again toward the motionless figure slumped in the chair.
Moments later, the door opened.
Mr. Romano entered.
His presence filled the room instantly, heavy and commanding, like a storm rolling in without warning. His sharp gaze swept across the space, taking in every detail — the nervous guards, the stillness of the air, and finally the body in the chair.
He stopped.
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
"What happened?" he asked.
His voice was low, controlled, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it.
Adrian met his father's gaze without hesitation. There was no panic in his face, no sign of guilt. Only composure.
"He resisted," Adrian said evenly. "We pushed him harder during the questioning. His body gave out."
Mr. Romano did not respond immediately. Instead, he stepped forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the lifeless man. He studied the body carefully, his expression growing darker with every second.
The room seemed to shrink around them.
After a long pause, Mr. Romano turned sharply toward his son.
"You are telling me," he said, his voice tightening, "that the only man who knew who tried to kill my son… is now dead?"
Adrian remained silent for a moment, allowing the weight of the words to settle. Then he nodded once.
"It appears so."
The reaction was immediate.
Mr. Romano's anger erupted like a sudden explosion.
"Unbelievable," he snapped, his voice rising for the first time. "One man. One answer. That was all we needed."
He took another step forward, his eyes blazing with fury as they locked onto Adrian.
"And you failed."
The accusation landed heavily in the room. The guards lowered their heads instinctively, unwilling to draw attention to themselves.
Adrian did not argue. He did not defend himself. Instead, he held his father's gaze, calm and steady, as if accepting the judgment without resistance.
"I take responsibility," he said quietly.
Mr. Romano let out a harsh breath, running a hand across his face in frustration. The anger in his expression remained, but beneath it lay something deeper — disappointment.
"This was our chance," he said. "Our only lead."
Silence followed.
For a moment, neither man spoke. The tension between them hung thick in the air, charged and uncomfortable.
Then Adrian spoke again, carefully choosing his words.
"Give me the opportunity to fix this."
Mr. Romano's eyes narrowed slightly. He watched his son with suspicion now, as if trying to read what lay beneath the calm exterior.
"And how do you intend to do that?" he asked.
Adrian straightened subtly, his voice steady and respectful.
"Let me take control of operations at the office," he said. "Put me in charge of the business matters and the investigation for now. I will handle everything personally."
The request settled into the room like a quiet challenge.
This was not simply an apology.
It was a move.
A shift.
Mr. Romano studied him in silence, weighing the words carefully. The anger had not disappeared, but it had changed shape, turning colder, more thoughtful.
"You believe you can correct this mistake?" he asked slowly.
"Yes," Adrian replied.
Another pause followed, long enough for the tension to stretch tight between them.
At last, Mr. Romano turned away, his expression still hard, still unsettled.
"You will fix this," he said firmly. "And if you fail again, there will be consequences."
Adrian inclined his head once in acknowledgment.
"I understand."
Mr. Romano gave the body in the chair one final look, then walked toward the door. The guards moved aside immediately, clearing his path. Without another word, he stepped out into the corridor.
The door closed behind him.
For a brief moment, Adrian remained where he stood, listening to the fading sound of his father's footsteps. His expression did not change, but something cold and calculating flickered quietly behind his eyes.
The first obstacle had been removed.
Now the real game could begin.
Sofia's (POV)
I didn't remember falling asleep.
I only remembered refusing to leave him.
My head had rested against Alessandro's arm, my fingers still wrapped tightly around his hand as if letting go would mean losing him completely. The machines had been the only thing keeping me calm all night—the steady sound that told me he was still alive.
Then something changed.
A small movement.
At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I had been too tired, too afraid for too long. But then I felt it again. His fingers moved slightly against mine.
My breath caught immediately.
I lifted my head slowly, staring at his hand like I needed to confirm I wasn't imagining it. Then it happened again—clearer this time. A weak but real movement.
"Alessandro…" I whispered.
I sat up quickly, my chair scraping back as panic and hope collided inside me. My voice broke as I called out louder. "Doctor! Nurse!"
The room shifted instantly.
Doors opened, footsteps rushed in, and within seconds doctors and nurses surrounded the bed. Machines began to beep faster, voices overlapping as they checked his condition. I stood at the side, frozen, watching every movement like my life depended on it.
Then I heard the words.
"He's responding."
My knees almost gave out.
Alessandro's eyes slowly opened.
They were weak, unfocused at first, like he was trying to find his way back from somewhere far away. But then his gaze shifted… and landed on me.
And something in his expression softened.
A faint smile touched his lips.
That small moment broke something inside me.
I moved closer immediately, my hand trembling as I reached for him. "Don't talk," I said quickly, my voice shaking. "Just stay still."
The doctors continued checking him, but I barely heard them. All I could focus on was the fact that he was here. Alive. Breathing. Looking at me.
After a few minutes, one of them finally spoke.
"He's stable now," the doctor said. "But he needs rest and careful recovery."
Slowly, they stepped away, leaving the room quieter again.
That was when everything inside me came crashing down.
I leaned forward, gripping his hospital gown as tears finally fell. "You said you were okay," I whispered. "You left me alone to deal with everything. Do you know what that did to me?"
His eyes stayed on me the entire time.
Even weak, even barely able to move, he didn't look away.
"I'm here now," he said softly.
I shook my head, tears falling faster. "That's not enough, Alessandro."
He lifted his hand slowly, weak but determined, until his fingers reached my face. He wiped one tear gently like it was something he had done before—something familiar.
"I didn't leave you," he said quietly. "I came back."
A pause.
Then, firmer, though still weak.
"And I'm not going anywhere."
Something in my chest tightened painfully at those words.
I leaned into his touch without thinking, closing my eyes for a moment as I tried to steady myself. I had been holding everything in for too long, pretending I was strong enough to handle it all alone.
"I was so scared," I whispered.
"I know," he replied.
And somehow, that was enough to silence me.
The days after that passed slowly.
Recovery started in small steps. Physiotherapy sessions, short movements, sitting up, standing briefly before exhaustion pulled him back down again. I stayed with him most of the time, even when I told myself I shouldn't.
Because I couldn't leave him again.
Not after everything.
But something inside me had started to shift.
Quietly.
Every time Adrian's name came up in conversation, I noticed it. The way I went silent. The way my thoughts paused longer than they should. The way something didn't feel right anymore, even though I couldn't explain why.
I didn't say it out loud.
Not yet.
But I was starting to remember things differently.
One afternoon, Mr. Romano arrived.
Everything in the room changed the moment he walked in. Even the nurses became more careful, more controlled. He didn't waste time with greetings or small talk.
Mr. Romano stood by the bed, his expression unreadable as he studied Alessandro carefully.
"Tell me exactly what happened," he said. "From the beginning."
Alessandro shifted slightly, still weak, still trying to gather the fragments of memory that felt broken and scattered. He took a slow breath before speaking.
"Adrian called me," he said quietly.
A pause followed.
"He said there was something I needed to see. About one of our old routes… he said he thought there was a leak."
Mr. Romano's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
Alessandro continued, his voice steady but low.
"I asked him if it was urgent. He said yes… and that it was better I came personally. He told me he was already at the location."
He paused again, trying to focus.
"So I went."
His fingers tightened slightly on the bedsheet.
"He chose a place near an abandoned industrial zone. Quiet… almost empty. I arrived with minimal escort."
A faint breath left him as he remembered.
"He was already there," Alessandro added. "Leaning against his car like it was just a normal meeting."
He shook his head slightly, still trying to piece it together.
"He greeted me normally. Said he was glad I came. Then he told me he just wanted to show me something before it escalated."
Another pause.
Alessandro's voice lowered.
"I remember asking him what exactly… and then everything after that is unclear."
He swallowed.
"The next thing I remember is… waking up here."
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Mr. Romano didn't move.
But something in his expression shifted — subtle, controlled, but no longer fully calm.
Because now the story was clear.
Adrian had been the last person with him.
And everything after that… was missing.
Mr. Romano stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"I'll handle everything," he finally said. "Don't worry."
He turned slightly, already thinking ahead.
"And I will call Adrian again myself."
The room didn't react, but the weight of his decision stayed behind even after he left.
Because nothing about this case felt settled.
Not the silence.
Not the answers they had been given.
And definitely not the parts that were still missing.
The mansion felt unusually quiet that day, the kind of silence that made everything feel exposed. Alessandro was upstairs resting, still weak from everything that had happened, and I stayed close because I couldn't bring myself to be anywhere else. Even the smallest sound in the house felt heavier now, like something was waiting just beneath the surface.
That was when they arrived.
Mr. Romano didn't come alone, and he didn't take Adrian anywhere else. He brought him straight into Alessandro's mansion and into his office. That alone made something in my chest tighten.
I stayed near the hallway, close enough to hear but far enough not to be seen. The moment Adrian stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. He looked calm, controlled, almost too composed for someone who had survived an attack.
They went into the office, and the door didn't fully close.
"I want the truth," Mr. Romano said.
His voice was low, but firm.
Adrian stood across from him, hands relaxed, expression carefully neutral. "The truth is the same as what Alessandro said," he replied. "There was a call. He told me there was a possible leak and asked me to meet him near the industrial zone."
I listened from the hallway, barely breathing.
Adrian continued calmly. "I went there. I saw him. And then everything happened quickly. We were attacked."
Mr. Romano didn't respond immediately. The silence between them felt heavy.
"I tried to help him," Adrian added. "But I couldn't control it."
Then he said it.
"I ran."
That single word changed the air in the room.
"I ran because I would have died there too," he finished quietly.
Mr. Romano's voice came after a long pause. "You left your brother behind."
"Yes," Adrian said without hesitation.
"And a stranger brought him to the hospital instead of you," Mr. Romano added.
That hit harder than anything else.
A stranger.
Not security. Not family. Not Adrian.
Just someone who happened to be there.
Mr. Romano stepped forward slightly. "You survived," he said, colder now, "but you couldn't protect him."
Adrian was silent for a moment, then replied, "I did what I could."
But something about the way he said it didn't feel right. It wasn't emotional. It wasn't defensive. It was controlled, like he was carefully managing a version of events rather than reliving them.
Mr. Romano stared at him for a long moment, then finally said, "Get out."
No shouting. No anger.
Just dismissal.
And somehow, that was worse.
Adrian nodded once and left the office like nothing had happened.
I moved back quickly before he could see me, my heart already beating too fast.
Because something about that conversation didn't sit right.
Alessandro said Adrian was with him before everything went dark.
Adrian said he ran.
Two versions of the same moment. Two different truths.
And both of them couldn't be right.
That thought stayed with me long after everything went quiet.
Later, Mr. Romano spoke to me briefly and repeated what had been said in the office, but I wasn't really listening anymore. My mind had already started connecting things on its own. Adrian never panicked. Not even once. Not when accused indirectly. Not when responsibility was placed on him. He only adjusted his story, just enough to survive scrutiny.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Alessandro was beside me, finally resting, but I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. Replaying everything again and again. Adrian's voice. His timing. His calmness. The way every version of that day bent slightly in his favor.
Not enough to prove anything.
But enough to make me start questioning everything.
And in a world like this, questions were never harmless.