"How did Lorenzo bring the local gangs in Knoxville under his control?"
"H-he tracked down our old bosses—drug dealers, biker gangs, and a few local arms dealers. He gave them weapons and promised them power. Anyone who refused… he…"
Jason shuddered violently, as if recalling something horrifying.
"…he made them disappear. Or worse. He's got a core team of bodyguards—all lunatics—he brought them from Italy. They only listen to him."
"What about Wagner?"
"He's a local arms dealer. He's got seven or eight capable guys under him."
Leah's eyes narrowed. She was now certain that this Wagner was the same Wagner she knew.
"What about the National Guard convoy? Who planned it? Explain in detail."
"It was… Lorenzo. Wagner was basically the helper he recruited. Lorenzo somehow knew the final evacuation route and timing of the military. He led us in an ambush."
"We killed the officer leading the convoy, took all their weapons and vehicles. Most of the civilians trying to follow the army were captured too. Anyone who resisted or tried to run was killed…"
Jason's voice grew quieter, filled with fear—and a trace of lingering guilt.
"How many bases do you have? Defensive layout. Firing positions. Guard rotation schedules. Where does Lorenzo usually stay?"
Carver's questions came rapidly, one after another, leaving Jason no time to think up lies.
Jason was already on the verge of collapse. His survival instinct overrode everything.
He stammered through everything he knew, trying to give as many details as possible.
They only had two bases: the building and the weapons factory.
He described which windows held the main firing positions in the building, how many guards stood at the entrance to the underground warehouse.
He described the security arrangements around Lorenzo's "palace" on the top floor, the guard shift intervals, and even the location of a little-known backup ventilation duct.
Occasionally Carver would interrupt suddenly, repeating a detail or asking a question that hadn't come up before, testing whether Jason was lying.
Jason's answers remained mostly consistent, though he grew more frightened and panicked each time.
Rickson quickly recorded everything on the tablet, adding more details to the sketch.
The interrogation lasted nearly an hour.
By the time Carver finally stopped, Jason had collapsed in the chair like a heap of mud.
His spirit was completely broken.
He continued muttering unconsciously.
"Don't kill me… I told you everything…"
Carver tossed the pry bar aside. It hit the ground with a loud clang, making Jason flinch again.
Carver walked over, picked up a bottle of water, and took a sip as if he had just finished a mildly tiring routine task.
Calista finally stepped away from the wall.
She looked down at the broken Jason from above, her eyes completely devoid of sympathy.
"Take him away and put him in solitary. Have Evans check him over—don't let him die."
"Oh, and bring his finger too. Ask Evans if it can be reattached."
She said to Rickson,
"His information is still useful. Rock Fortress treats cooperative people well."
Rickson nodded. He handed the tablet containing the interrogation notes to Leah, then untied the limp Jason from the chair and dragged him out of the interrogation room.
Only Calista, Leah, and Carver remained in the cold stone chamber.
"Carver, what do you think?" Calista asked.
Carver wiped the sweat from his face. His expression had returned to normal.
"Mostly credible. He's scared out of his mind. What he said should be true."
"This Lorenzo is completely insane—but he's also a very dangerous kind of smart."
"The Red Scarf Gang isn't some random mob. It's an organized criminal army."
The quiet Leah suddenly spoke.
"That arms dealer, Wagner… I know him."
"What?!" Calista said in surprise.
Leah turned to Carver.
"Carver, you and Rickson have met him too. He's the guy we bought military-grade weapons from before the apocalypse."
Carver rubbed his chin.
"Oh! Right. I remember him now. He looked like someone in our line of work, not a typical gangster. A few of his guys looked like mercenaries too."
Leah nodded.
"Wagner was introduced to me by the Pope. He's also a former special forces soldier. Later he started smuggling weapons in Knoxville."
Everything suddenly connected in Calista's mind.
"If one of the people Lorenzo came to do business with before the apocalypse was Wagner, then it's very likely they teamed up afterward."
"Just Lorenzo's Italian bodyguards plus Wagner's men already match the number of our mercenaries."
Those alone were trained fighters on par with Leah and the others.
On top of that, there were still more than forty local gang members—and they weren't amateurs either.
Not to mention that Lorenzo and Wagner were arms dealers themselves. They robbed the National Guard convoy and now run a production line that still works after the apocalypse.
Their weapons and equipment must be excellent.
Carver paused before adding in a serious tone.
"Calista, if we fight them head-on, even if we win, the cost will be huge."
"They have more people, their firepower isn't weak—maybe even better than ours—and they have the home-field advantage."
"And the only real fighters we have in the base are us. At most we could count the nursing home guys and the one-armed guy."
Calista understood what he meant.
When he said "fighters," he meant the mercenaries. Even Merle and the others were barely counted.
Calista looked at the empty chair, still marked with signs of struggle and a few drops of blood.
"A high cost doesn't mean we won't do it," she said quietly, her gaze deep.
"Especially since they're right next door."
"And their way of operating is that of raiders—not a survival base like ours."
Calista turned toward the door.
"Gather all core personnel. We need to make a plan."
"Preferably one that doesn't spill blood."
Carver watched her back as she walked away and grinned.
"Just waiting for your orders, Calista."
...
The fourth floor of the Knoxville Joint Trade Center looked completely different from the chaos and filth below.
The broken partitions had been cleared away. Emergency lights with soft illumination hung from exposed concrete pillars, and the wiring ran neatly in straight lines.
This was the heart of the Red Scarf Gang.
And the location of Lorenzo's "palace."
Two guards stood outside the door like statues.
They wore fitted black tactical uniforms and dark red scarves made of clearly superior fabric. The modified AR-15 rifles in their hands were maintained in perfect condition.
Unlike the noisy, thuggish Knoxville gang members downstairs, these two men stood with the steady posture of trained soldiers.
Their eyes swept the hallway with undisguised contempt.
Not for the person inside the room.
But for everyone else in the building.
André and Marco were Lorenzo's own men, brought from Italy.
They came from an ancient and powerful Calabrian mafia family.