Chapter 152
Vitale could no longer suppress the destructive urge boiling in his chest.
With all his strength, he slammed the dagger into the hard mahogany table in front of him.
The blade sank deep, leaving only the black handle trembling outside.
"That filthy bastard with the sleazy grin," Vitale's voice hissed through clenched teeth, low and hoarse, "I want him to be the first to die."
He slowly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Victor. The murderous intent in his gaze was so thick it felt almost tangible, "And it won't be a quick death. I want him to know what it means to beg for death and not get it."
Victor met his terrifying stare without hesitation, nodding immediately. His tone was just as cold and resolute, "Understood. Don't worry, I'll handle him myself. I'll use the slowest methods, make him experience every kind of death before he takes his last breath."
The video kept looping.
Fourth time, fifth time...
Vitale forced himself to watch, like the most meticulous surgeon, dissecting every inch of the footage with his eyes, searching for any clue he might have missed.
He no longer roared in rage, but his body, taut as a bowstring, and the suffocating, oppressive aura around him were far more terrifying than any outburst.
When the video reached the middle of the fifth loop, after Isabella was forced to state the exchange terms, the camera shook slightly. A man's hand, with dirt under the fingernails, suddenly appeared in the frame, casually and disrespectfully brushing against Isabella's tear-streaked, dirt-smeared cheek.
Isabella let out a short, sharp scream, her body jerking back violently. But the ropes binding her held tight, making her struggle futile.
That scream was filled with pure, visceral fear and disgust.
Vitale stared at that hand, at Isabella's terrified reaction, the brutality in his eyes nearly bursting through their sockets.
"This man can't die easily either."
Then, the video played the cold threat of the leader. His voice wasn't loud, but it struck everyone's ears with chilling clarity, "Ms. Lorraine, if you don't cooperate nicely, we have plenty of ways to make you talk—or make you regret it."
Vitale's breathing grew heavy, the veins at his temples throbbing wildly.
He was losing it.
He wouldn't let a single one of them go.
Anyone who touched Isabella, threatened her, or made her scream in fear like that...
He would use the longest, most painful methods to crush every bone in their bodies and tear apart every nerve!
The video looped countless times. The air in the study seemed to solidify, heavy and suffocating.
Only the repeating images and sounds on the screen, along with the terrifying killing intent radiating from Vitale, filled the room.
"Vitale." Victor's voice broke the stifling cycle. He walked over with a tablet in hand, his expression grave, "Our people at the south district Seagull Dock reported back. There's indeed an abandoned shack there that matches some of the environmental details in the video."
"But it's empty. There's just some scattered bloodstains on the ground. We've taken samples and are comparing them to Ms. Lorraine's medical records for a DNA match. It'll take time, though, and we can't confirm yet if the blood belongs to her."
Victor paused, noticing Vitale's gaze sharpening even more, and continued with another lead, "Also, about that designated overseas bank account, our tech team did a preliminary check. It's an anonymous account routed through multiple layers of encryption and redirects. Tracing the source is tough and will take time to break through the firewalls and disguises. They're working on it full force..."
"We don't have much time, Victor!" Vitale cut him off sharply, grabbing Victor's tie and yanking him close. Their faces were so near they could feel each other's ragged breaths.
Vitale's eyes were a web of bloodshot veins and madness, "You know this! Isabella is in the hands of those bastards! Every second longer means more danger for her! Every second, she could be..."
"I need to know where she is right now! Right now!"
His voice trembled with extreme anxiety and fear, his grip tightening the tie around Victor's neck.
Victor didn't struggle. He just stared into Vitale's near-breaking eyes, his voice eerily calm, "Vitale, look at me. Calm down! I know you don't have time! Isabella doesn't have time either! But in this state, you're not listening to anything I say, are you? You're like a raging blind man, just wanting to smash your head against a wall! Will that save Isabella?"
His words hit like a bucket of ice water, dousing Vitale's burning madness.
Vitale's grip on the tie loosened slightly, though the fire in his eyes still burned.
"What are you trying to say?" Vitale gritted out.
Victor took the chance to pull his tie free, straightening it before turning the tablet toward Vitale, pointing to a prefix in a string of complex account codes, "I'm saying we might need to approach this from another angle. Look at this encryption identifier in the account prefix. One of our old informants recognized a variant of its usage."
"It points to vague associated information, including a name—Elliot, Doria's husband, the guy running for city council."
Vitale's brows furrowed tightly, exhaustion and anxiety slowing his thoughts, "Doria? What does this have to do with her? Why does her husband's name show up here?"
Victor lowered his voice, "We hope it's just a coincidence, a meaningless code fragment, or a deliberate misdirection by the kidnappers. But at this critical moment, any coincidence is worth paying attention to."
"Elliot is a political figure. Among his campaign rivals, some have had unpleasant run-ins with us. Plus, he's been loudly pushing to crack down on organized crime and clean up the city. You get what that slogan means."
"If the anonymous account used by the kidnappers, intentionally or not, has a technical link to his name, we have to consider the possibility of a deeper connection."
Hearing this, Vitale felt a sharp headache strike, as if countless needles were stabbing into his temples.
He hadn't slept in over a day, his mind stretched to the breaking point by worry and rage.
A wave of dizziness hit him, and he nearly lost his balance.
Stumbling to the liquor cabinet, he didn't even bother with a glass. He grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey and took two big gulps straight from the bottle.
The harsh liquid burned his throat and empty stomach, bringing a brief, false sense of warmth and numbness.
Vitale wiped the whiskey from his lips, his eyes glassy from alcohol and exhaustion, "Can we set up a meeting? Privately, without drawing attention. I want to see Elliot."
He set the bottle down, pressing his aching temples hard, "Keep looking for Isabella. Send out everyone we can spare! Watch that dock, monitor every possible waterway! And didn't the kidnappers want an exchange?"
"Victor, get ready. Take a few of our sharpest, toughest guys. Disguise yourselves as me and the prisoner escort. Tomorrow, set up an ambush near Seagull Dock early. Test their moves, see if we can find their hideout."
"Remember, unless it's absolutely necessary or we're sure of Isabella's exact location, don't reveal yourselves or hand over anyone."
Vitale took another swig of whiskey, trying to dull the splitting headache and frustration tearing at him, "I'll personally probe this Elliot, see if he's just caught up in this by chance or if he's really involved."
Victor nodded but added a reminder, "We've looked into Elliot's background. It's clean, at least on the surface. He's also loyal to Doria, no messy personal history."
"That's why I didn't consider him a suspect before. If we approach him recklessly, we might tip him off."
"Loyal? Clean?" Vitale let out a cold, humorless scoff, his voice heavy with exhaustion, "In politics and with big enough stakes, nothing is impossible. Set up the meeting. Use the excuse of a business deal, or go through Doria. Don't make him suspicious."
Vitale poured himself another glass of whiskey and downed it in one go.
The alcohol made his thoughts hazier, but it also sharpened the heavy, crushing sense of helplessness and guilt weighing on him.
Leaning against the liquor cabinet, he stared at Isabella's frozen face on the screen and sighed, "If this really has something to do with Elliot, I might end up letting Isabella down."