Page 10 of Marked for Life

Both have had access to Hannah's wing of the mansion, albeit limited and supervised. Both could have observed her recent behavior, noted her silence, her withdrawal. Both could be part of something larger, something aimed at stealing what belongs exclusively to me.

Marco and Vincent enter without knocking, their expressions alert despite the late hour. They know that summons at this time rarely bring good news.

"We have a problem," I inform them without preamble. "The network Elena mentioned before her execution still exists within our organization. I've just overheard concerning conversations suggesting ongoing observation of Hannah, knowledge of previous escape attempts, and possible planning for future interference."

Marco's expression darkens, while Vincent maintains his usual professional mask. "Names?" Marco asks.

"Stefano from the kitchen staff and Thomas from night security, for starters. But I suspect the rot goes deeper." I stand, straightening my cuffs with deliberate precision. "I want them in the interrogation room. Now. Along with anyone they've had extended contact with in the past month."

Vincent hesitates briefly. "Sir, that could be dozens of people, many of whom are likely innocent of any?—"

"Did I ask for your assessment?" The coldness in my voice stops him mid-sentence. "Bring them. All of them. Anyone who can't be definitively cleared will be removed from the organization. Permanently."

They exchange a glance that lasts a fraction of a second too long—a microcommunication that sends fresh suspicion coursing through me. Could even my most trusted lieutenants be compromised? The thought is almost inconceivable, yet the evidence of conspiracy within my household demands consideration of every possibility.

"Is there a problem with my instructions?" I ask, my voice dangerously soft.

"No, sir," Marco responds immediately. "We'll gather them now."

"Good. Start with Stefano and Thomas. I'll join you shortly."

After they depart, I return to the surveillance feed of Hannah, studying her sleeping form with renewed intensity. What does she know of these whispers, these plans, these betrayals brewing within my organization? Is her silent withdrawal a form of preparation? Is she simply waiting, conserving energy, minimizing interaction until another opportunity presents itself?

The rage building inside me is cold, calculated, focused. Not the hot, explosive anger that characterized my earlier reactions to threats against my possession of Hannah. This is something more dangerous, more lethal—a precisely targeted fury that will eliminate not just individual transgressors but the entire ecosystem that allows such transgressions to develop.

I check my watch—2:17 AM. Hannah will sleep for hours yet. Enough time to exterminate the infection threatening my household, my possession, my absolute claim on what's mine.

In the lower levels of the mansion, the interrogation rooms await—soundproofed, equipped with everything necessary to extract information, to punish betrayal, to make examples of those who dare interfere with what belongs to me. I take my time walking there, allowing anticipation to build, allowing the cold rage to crystallize into something sharp-edged and precise.

Stefano is already secured in the first room, eyes wide with terror as I enter. Marco stands nearby, his expression grim, his hands steady. The kitchen worker's uniform is rumpled, suggesting he was brought here with minimal ceremony, minimal explanation.

"Mr. Severino," he stammers, "I don't understand why?—"

"Paolo," I interrupt, watching his face closely. "You mentioned him tonight. Said he disappeared after talking about my wife. What exactly did he say?"

The color drains from Stefano's face. "It was nothing, sir. Just kitchen gossip. I shouldn't have repeated it?—"

"Not what I asked." I approach slowly, deliberately, each step measured. "What. Did. He. Say."

Sweat beads on Stefano's forehead as his eyes dart frantically between me and Marco. "Just…just that she tried to leave once. That's all. He said she tried to escape and got caught, and that's why the security got tightened. I swear, that's all he said before he disappeared."

"And you repeated this information to Thomas tonight. Why?"

"I wasn't thinking," Stefano pleads, his voice cracking. "It was just talk, sir. I didn't mean anything by it."

I circle him slowly, studying the fear that radiates from him in almost visible waves. He appears genuinely terrified, genuinely confused by the severity of my reaction. But appearances can deceive. Elena appeared innocent too, until I discovered her passing notes to Hannah, offering escape routes, threatening to steal what belongs exclusively to me.

"Who else have you spoken to about my wife?" I ask, my voice calm despite the rage coiling inside me.

"No one!" Stefano insists, tears forming in his eyes. "I swear on my mother's life, Mr. Severino. Tonight was the only time I ever mentioned her to anyone!"

I stop directly in front of him, studying his face with clinical detachment. "Your mother's life is worthless to me, Stefano. Only your truth has any value in this room."

"It is the truth!" he sobs, breaking completely now. "Please, sir. I have a family. I've been loyal. I just made one stupid comment?—"

"About my wife," I finish for him. "You observed her. Discussed her. Shared information about her that wasn't yours to possess."

The realization of his transgression finally seems to dawn on him—not just breaking workplace rules but violating the most fundamental boundary in my organization. Hannah exists outside the awareness of staff unless specifically involved by me. She is not to be observed, not to be discussed, not to be acknowledged as an independent entity within my household.

---