“I’ll take it from here,” he looked at the man he had come to consider a brother-in-arms, a man who was on the verge of losing his shit. Dante knew that every day that went without any news on Luna was another weight on his shoulder.
“Go to Morana,” he told Tristan quietly, not worried about their captive listening. He wouldn’t be making it out alive anyway. “Be with her. I’ll handle this motherfucker.”
Tristan hesitated before giving him a tight nod and walking out of the warehouse.
Dante grabbed a chair and turned it, taking a seat in front of the bastard, wishing he could take him to the interrogation basement at the compound. He had better infrastructure there. Well, he’d improvise.
Taking out another cigarette, because this was a fucking stressful situation and he needed to keep as calm as possible, Dante lit it up slowly, keeping his eyes on the man. Dark-haired, medium built, averagely dressed, he could pass on the street for just another guy.
He stayed silent, simply smoking and watching him. That was his primary tactic. People always underestimated how powerful mastering silence could be, especially because human beings always tried to fill it. It was a psychological torture tactic – one of Dante’s personal favorites and one that the artist in him appreciated – because it let their imaginations run wild. Would he kill them? How would he do that? With a bullet, a knife, or a wire? Would he torture them? Break their bones? Pull their nails? Or something worse?
It was his favorite because before he even asked them a question, they scared themselves on their own enough to show him a crack. And then, Dante put a nail on the crack and hammered, and hammered, until it split.
He took in a deep drag, letting his emotions simmer under his skin, watching the man’s face swell.
“What do you want?”
Crack.
Dante simply sat there, watching him steadily. He knew that freaked them out – this huge dude just smoking calmly, no response, no crazy look, nothing.
“Look, I don’t even know who you are.”
Lie. The man had recognized him, paling like he’d seen a ghost.
Dante blew out a cloud of smoke. Feeling a little evil, he started making smoke rings in the air, seeing them float towards the man.
The guy pissed in his pants. Dante didn’t react, still sitting five feet away from him, even as the stench filled the room.
“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he blubbered. “I have a wife, kids. I love them. Please let me go.”
Yeah, and a pig was flying overhead. The fucker couldn’t be serious.
Dante crossed one ankle over his knee, placing his hand with the cigarette down over the other.
“Syndicate,” he uttered one word.
The guy swallowed. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout.”
Dante didn’t respond, just kept watching him silently. One minute passed. Two. More. After a few minutes, the guy squirmed.
“I just got drafted into the organization last month,” the man admitted. “Today was my… um, induction party.”
Fucking sleazy slimeball.
Dante inhaled another drag.
“That’s all I know.”
Not likely.
“What’s your name?” Dante asked.
“Um, Martin.”
“Martin, how did you get to know about them?” Dante asked. The guy swallowed but stayed silent. Dante gave him a deliberate smirk, the one that really got to people after his silence, fueling their imaginations some more.
“I… you only get in through… reference,” he confessed after a few seconds.