Chapter 15 - cold porcelain tea
At noon the following day, the sky over the Chicago riverfront was dark with heavy storm clouds. Inside the vast, cavernous interior of the old textile mill, the air was freezing cold. Nathan sat on an inverted wooden crate near loom number seven, an unlit cigar held between his teeth, his arms resting casually on his knees. Marco and four heavily armed Moretti enforcers stood in the shadows behind the rusted machinery, their hands resting on the grips of their concealed weapons.
The heavy double doors at the front of the mill swung open, allowing a gust of wet wind and three men in tailored wool overcoats to enter.
Leading the group was Counselor Vance—a tall, thin man in his late fifties with slicked-back silver hair and gold-rimmed spectacles. Walking behind him were two heavy-set syndicate enforcers carrying automatic weapons under their unbuttoned coats.
Vance stopped ten feet from Nathan, his polished leather shoes kicking up a cloud of old wool dust. He looked around the damp, ruined warehouse with a look of quiet disdain.
"An odd choice for a business meeting, Don Nathan," Vance said, his voice clipped and smooth. "Don Domenico expected you to show proper respect and meet him at his estate in Lake Forest."
"Domenico is too old to travel, Vance," Nathan said, his deep voice carrying through the empty hall like thunder. "And I don't give respect to men who order hitmen to intimidate sick women and seven-year-old girls."
Vance adjusted his gold glasses, his expression remaining entirely devoid of emotion. "The Bennett woman was a security risk to the syndicate. Seven years ago, she learned details about our offshore banking structure that could have brought down three entire families. Domenico showed extraordinary leniency by allowing her to live in that tenement under supervision."
Nathan stood up slowly, his tall, imposing figure casting a shadow that reached Vance's feet. "Leniency? She was starving to death while my daughter was pricking her fingers on a rusty sewing machine to buy medicine."
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"The child is an illegitimate casualty of a private war," Vance replied coldly, reaching into his inner coat pocket to pull out a leather folder. "Domenico offers a settlement. You surrender the three ledgers you removed from the floor safe last night, and we will grant Sarah Bennett and the child a lifetime allowance of twenty thousand dollars a month to live quietly in Florida. Under the condition that they never return to Illinois."
Nathan smiled—a cold, terrifying expression that made Vance's two guards take a involuntary step back. "I have a counter-offer, Counselor."
