Vance’s eyes darted toward the exit door behind him.

The two guards who had entered with Vance stepped away from him, leaving him standing alone in the center of the room.

“He’s lying to you,” Vance stammered. “He’s setting you up.”

“The feds don’t have this transaction data,” Giovanni said. “Not yet.”

“But they will have yours, Marcus.”

The broad mercenary with the scar stepped forward and grabbed Vance by the shoulder.

Vance tried to pull away, but the mercenary slammed him against the concrete wall.

“Take him to the van,” the mercenary leader said to his men.

They stripped Vance of his weapon and his phone.

“What do we do with him, Mr. Moretti?” the leader asked, looking at Giovanni with a quiet respect.

“Keep him secure in the basement of the warehouse,” Giovanni said.

“I will deal with him shortly.”

“Understood,” the man said.

They dragged Vance out of the room, his expensive leather shoes scraping against the floor.

Vance did not scream, but he stared at Giovanni with a look of pure hatred.

The basement fell quiet, except for the hum of the water pipes.