Chapter 6
The heavy mahogany doors swung open with a harsh, aggressive push.
A man strode into the private dining room, projecting the arrogant, unearned confidence of a mid-level enforcer who believed he owned the city streets. He was in his early thirties, wearing a flashy, poorly tailored navy suit and a silver chain over a black turtleneck. His dark hair was slicked back, and a cruel, dismissive sneer twisted his features. This was Marcus, a low-level collector who operated in the outer rim of Dominic’s vast criminal empire.
Marcus marched into the room, his eyes scanning the space, clearly expecting to find the terrified girl cornered by standard restaurant staff. He raised a hand, ready to bark a command.
"Listen to me, you little rat, you are going to—"
Marcus’s voice abruptly died in his throat.
His eyes finally adjusted to the dim, warm lighting. He saw the three heavily armed bodyguards in charcoal suits staring at him with lethal intent. Then, his gaze tracked to the center of the room, locking onto the towering, heavily muscular figure standing directly in front of the little girl.
Marcus stopped so violently he nearly tripped over his own expensive shoes. The color drained from his face at a terrifying speed. His heart seemed to stop altogether. He recognized the charcoal-gray dress shirt, the piercing gray-blue eyes, and the intricate dark tattoos creeping up the neck. Every criminal in Chicago knew exactly what those tattoos meant.
"Mr. Moretti," Marcus choked out, the arrogance instantly evaporating, replaced by a raw, suffocating panic. He took a stumbling step backward, but the heavy mahogany doors were already clicking shut behind him, sealing him inside.
"Come closer, Marcus," Dominic said.
The words were spoken softly, yet they carried a weight that made the air in the room feel unbreathable. Dominic didn't yell. His restrained acting and slow eye movements conveyed a terrifying, predatory calm.
Marcus began to sweat profusely, his American accent trembling as he forced his legs to move forward. He stopped ten feet away, completely ignoring Lily now, his entire focus locked in absolute terror on the billionaire mafia boss.
"Boss," Marcus stammered, bowing his head slightly, his hands shaking at his sides. "I... I didn't know you were here tonight. I was just... I was tracking down a theft. This girl, she stole from one of our secondary safehouses."
Lily whimpered softly from the velvet chair behind Dominic.
Dominic did not look back at her. His eyes remained fixed on the sweating enforcer. He tilted his head slightly, his perfectly styled dark hair catching the warm chandelier light.
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"A theft," Dominic repeated, his deep voice smooth and analytical. "You are telling me that a starving eleven-year-old girl and an eight-month-old infant managed to breach a secured syndicate safehouse, bypass armed security, and steal from us?"
Marcus swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically around the room. "She's... she's a runner, boss. Her father owed us fifty grand. He skipped town. She’s the collateral. I was just bringing her in to pay off the debt."
