Page 65 of Bound in Vengeance
At the station, the routine statement quickly turns into a full-blown interrogation. They guide me into a sterile room with blinding fluorescent lights and a double-sided mirror, the lace of my wedding dress looking absurdly out of place against the scratched metal table.
Two agents sit across from me, laying out a file filled with surveillance photos of Alessandro, detailing the timeline of the drug shipment Luca sabotaged.
"Look at this, Mrs. Gallo," the lead agent says, leaning forward, his voice shifting into deliberate sympathy. "You don't have to protect him. We know who your father is, and we know how these arrangements work. You were bartered off today, weren't you?"
The second agent nods, pushing a legal document toward me. "This is your chance to damage Alessandro Gallo permanently. Tell us what was on that laptop. Tell us where the ledger is. If you tell the truth, we can protect you. We can invalidate the marriage license. We can offer you federal protection and a way out. If this marriage was forced, if it wasn't truly your choice, you can walk away right now. Free."
For a long, agonizing moment, the room goes completely silent.
The words echo in my head, striking me right in the chest. A sudden realization washes over me: this is it. This is the exact opening I wanted. The cage doors are being pulled wide open before the lock can even settle.
I have the power to utterly ruin Alessandro, dismantle his empire, free myself from the syndicate lifestyle, and walk away clean. I could go back to my old life, answerable to no one.
I look down at the polished metal table, my reflection warped and distorted. All I have to do is say a single word. All I have to do is tell them about the bookshelf, and the nightmare is over.
Instead, I look up, my expression smoothing into a mask of pure, untroubled innocence.
"I don't know anything about a laptop," I say, my voice steady, betraying none of the chaos screaming inside my head. "And my marriage wasn't forced. I love my husband."
The lie tastes heavy on my tongue, but it leaves my mouth without a single tremor. It is only in that exact second, as the words hang in the sterile air of the interrogation room, that the terrifying truth sinks in. When my window of escape finally opened—the exact exit strategy I had been praying for—I looked right at it and chose to slam it shut. I protected him. I chose Alessandro.
The lead agent's sympathetic demeanor vanishes in an instant, his face darkening as he slams his palm onto the metal table. "Don't play dumb with us, Mrs. Gallo! You were in that bedroom for too long before we found you. What did you move? If you're lying to cover for a syndicate boss, you're looking at felony obstruction. We will lock you up right alongside him!"
The pressure in the room mounts, the air turning thick and hostile. The second agent leans in, his shadow looming over me, his voice dropping into a sharp, threatening hiss. "Think about your family. Think about your sisters. Is Alessandro Gallo really worth destroying your entire life over?"
Despite the sweat gathering at the back of my neck, I don't flinch. I lean back in my chair, the delicate white lace of my wedding gown contrasting sharply against the grim, gray room. I maintain my ground, staring back at them with a cold, unyielding certainty that feels older than I am.
"I've told you everything I know," I say quietly. "If you're going to charge me, do it. Otherwise, I want to see my lawyer."
The lead agent opens his mouth to bark another threat, but the burly officer standing near the door quickly steps forward, placing a cautionary hand on his colleague's shoulder.
"Hey, watch the pressure," the officer mutters in a tense whisper, glancing at my stomach. "The report from the house says she's pregnant. If she has a medical emergency under high-stress interrogation without counsel present, the whole case gets thrown out on a silver platter. It's not worth it."
The lead agent grinds his teeth, glaring at me with absolute frustration. He looks at my white dress, then at the recording equipment on the wall, realizing his hands are tied.
With a defeated, angry sigh, he gathers the files from the table and shoves them into his briefcase.
"You're free to go for now, Mrs. Gallo," he says, spitting out my new last name like a curse. "But don't get too comfortable. We'll be watching every single move you make."
“Thank you, officers,” I say, offering them a sweet, completely unbothered smile as I push my chair back. “Well done. And great job today.”
I stand up, lifting the heavy train of my wedding dress over my arm with all the grace of a queen leaving her throne room rather than a suspect exiting a federal interrogation. The agents stare at me in stunned, furious silence as I turn my back on them and walk out into the hallway.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ALESSANDRO
The fluorescent lights overhead hum a relentless, irritating tune that vibrates straight through my skull. I’ve been sitting in this metal chair for hours, my hands still cuffed tightly behind my back, staring at the two federal agents across the table.
This is a psychological siege. A hostile, suffocating barrage of the same questions wrapped in different words, delivered with sneers and aggressive posturing.
"We have the manifests, Mr. Gallo," the lead agent, Miller, says, leaning so far across the table his hot breath hits my face. "We have the port signatures. We know exactly what was inside those containers before they hit the dock. You’re looking at twenty to life in a federal penitentiary. Your empire is gone before the ink on your marriage certificate is even dry."
I don't blink. I don't give them a single twitch of my jaw. I just lean back, keeping my expression an unreadable mask of cold amusement. "I'm a legitimate businessman, Agent Miller. If someone compromised my shipping lanes, I suggest you look into the port authority, not me."
The second agent scoffs, slamming a thick folder onto the steel table to create a loud, jarring crack. "Save it for the judge. We know exactly where the digital ledger is. We’re tossing your mansion right now. Your little bride is probably crying in the foyer while my men rip the walls apart."
A dark, icy knot forms in the pit of my stomach, though I don’t let a single hint of it surface.
