Chaos erupted.
Everyone scrambled toward the soldier's hospital room.
Miller dragged me by my handcuffs, pushing me to the front of the crowd.
Through the glass, I saw Enzo tangled in a mess of tubes. Disgust flashed across my face.
Then I gave Miller a faint smile.
"If I had known you were so hard to kill, I would have used white phosphorus instead of cyanide."
"I planned nine perfect executions, only for you to become the one stain on my record."
"A cyanide capsule is supposed to be fatal. How did you..."
The attending physician shot me a cold look and removed his mask.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Corleone."
"We threw every top medical resource we had at him. We've neutralized most of the toxins, and he's no longer in critical condition."
The victims' families were ecstatic.
The moment Enzo identified me, I was finished.
They pressed against the glass, shouting to Enzo inside.
"Enzo! Tell them it was her! Tell them what she did!"
"For your family, for your dead brothers, you have to point her out!"
Enzo slowly opened his eyes.
The moment his gaze met mine, he began to tremble, too terrified to speak.
The crowd kept urging him on.
"Don't be afraid. The agents are here. They'll protect you."
"It was Victoria, wasn't it?"
"Just nod your head. It will all be over."
They pleaded, but after more than an hour, Enzo still hadn't said a word.
No matter what Miller asked, no matter how the families begged, he just stared at me, petrified.
As the minutes ticked by, the crowd grew restless.
"He's traumatized. It's PTSD."
"A normal interrogation won't work. We need a psychologist!"
"Use hypnosis! Get the truth from his subconscious!"
Miller hesitated, but under immense public pressure, he had no choice but to nod.
After getting approval from his superiors and the family, the FBI brought in New York's top criminal psychologist.
The room was cleared, leaving only me and Miller behind the one-way glass.
Dr. Hoffman's voice was deep and magnetic, like an ancient incantation.
Enzo's breathing evened out, his eyes unfocused.
He answered the first few basic questions smoothly, his expression growing peaceful.
Until Dr. Hoffman softly asked the crucial question.
"Enzo, take a deep breath. Tell me, who tried to kill you that night?"
"Was it... someone working for Victoria Corleone?"
Enzo, who had been calm, suddenly shot his eyes open and began to struggle violently.
I stood behind the one-way glass, smiled at him, and silently mouthed a single word.
"Shh."
The next second, Enzo made a strange gurgling noise. His hands shot up and clamped around his own neck.
The force was shocking, not what you'd expect from a man just pulled back from the brink of death.
"Stop him!" Miller roared, bursting into the room.
Several agents and doctors swarmed him, trying to pry his hands from his neck.
But Enzo was like a man possessed, his face quickly turning a deep purple.
Then, Enzo's head went limp.
The heart monitor flatlined.
Miller let go, his face pale and beaded with sweat.
The doctor shook his head. "Cause of death was asphyxiation, brought on by extreme terror. It was a suicide. He did it with his own two hands."
At the end, he'd nearly snapped his own neck.
I stood outside the door and clapped softly, my handcuffs clinking.
"Brilliant."
"He'd rather choke himself to death than identify me. It seems my charm is greater than death itself, Agent Miller."
Miller finally snapped.
"Victoria, what the hell did you do?"
I blinked innocently.
I had no physical contact with the soldier. And in front of everyone, cuffed and shackled, I had no opportunity to do a thing.
I leaned close to Miller's enraged face and blew a taunting breath.
"Your only witness would rather die in agony than testify against me."
"So, Agent. What are you going to do with me now?"
With the soldier's bizarre death in front of a room full of witnesses, the case reached an unprecedented climax.
I was trembling with excitement.
My masterpiece was almost complete.
