Page 71 of Playing with Fire

"I didn't know what he was planning," Walsh blurted, his eyes wide with growing panic. "He just paid me to disable some security feeds and give him access codes. That's all!"

Algerone smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. "A man in significant debt receives an unexpected windfall in exchange for a seemingly minor security breach. How could he possibly anticipate the consequences?" He glanced at me. "What do you think, Xavier? Does ignorance absolve responsibility?"

"No," I answered flatly. "It doesn't."

Algerone nodded. "Actions have consequences, regardless of one's claimed awareness." He moved to a small control panel on the wall, tapped a few buttons, and the room filled with the delicate, measured notes of Vivaldi's "Winter" from The Four Seasons.

Walsh went rigid in his chair, genuine terror flooding his expression. As Algerone's security personnel, he'd clearly heard the rumors about what happened when the boss played classical music.

His breathing accelerated, sweat beading along his hairline. “I'll tell you everything! You don't have to do this."

Algerone acted as though he hadn't heard, adjusting the volume.

"Really?" Xander drawled, breaking his silence with an exaggerated eye roll. "We're doing the classical music thing again? Could you be more cliché?"

"Some traditions have value," Algerone replied mildly, opening the metal case to reveal an assortment of torture tools.

Xion leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with detached curiosity. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Algerone selected a pair of black leather gloves from the case, pulling them on. The leather stretched and creaked as he flexed his fingers, testing their fit. "This particular concerto has always proven effective at focusing the mind. Both mine and that of my subject."

"Your subject," I repeated, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Is that what we're calling the man who endangered my entire family? Who left Leo at Phoenix's mercy?"

Walsh flinched at my tone, his eyes darting frantically between us. "I didn’t mean for that to happen! I’m telling you everything I know!"

What Walsh didn't understand was that extracting information was only part of why we were here. The betrayal demanded retribution. The fear Leo had felt while I lay unconscious required payment in blood and pain. This wasn't just an interrogation. It was catharsis.

But Algerone wasn't looking at Walsh anymore. His attention had shifted to me, watching with analytical interest as I reached into my back pocket and withdrew my own pair of black nitrile gloves.

"I don't like the mess," I said.

A flicker of approval crossed Algerone's face as he recognized our parallel preparations, the same purpose but different reasoning. Neither of us wanted to get our hands dirty directly, though for entirely different reasons.

Algerone gestured at the sound system. "Would you prefer something else for our accompaniment?"

The question caught me off guard. The concession, minor as it was, felt significant.

"Oh thank god," Xander exclaimed, practically lunging for the control panel. He connected his phone and scrolled through his playlist.

The Vivaldi cut off abruptly, replaced by a pulsing Euro pop beat that hurt my eardrums. Synthesized vocals auto-tuned within an inch of their life filled the room as Xander bobbed their head approvingly.

"Absolutely not," Xion, Algerone, and I said in unison.

"What?" Xander looked genuinely offended, hands on his hips. "Euro pop is a legitimate musical choice!"

"For a German nightclub maybe," Xion muttered, rubbing his temples.

"It's definitely not appropriate for interrogation," I added.

Algerone just stared at Xander with an expression that somehow conveyed both disappointment and utter lack of surprise.

"Fine," Xander huffed, disconnecting his phone. "You all have terrible taste, anyway."

"I have a better idea," I said, moving to the control panel. With a few taps, I connected my phone to the system and scrolled through my library.

I paused, considering. Algerone had made a concession in asking for our input, an unexpected gesture that deserved acknowledgment. As much as I wanted to play something aggressively electronic just to make a point, this moment called for something different. A compromise.

Algerone raised an eyebrow as the first electronic pulses replaced the violin concerto, but said nothing. The juxtaposition of his formal stance in his immaculate suit against the backdrop of industrial beats created a strange cognitive dissonance. Like watching a shark swim through neon lights.

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