Chapter 5 - Bloodlines and Broken Bread
The staging ground was an abandoned refrigerated meatpacking facility on the South Side, its rusted steel beams silhouetted against an overcast grey sky. Heavy rain began to pelt the corrugated roof, drumming a steady, ominous march.
Dante stepped out of his black armored SUV, accompanied by Nico and eight of his most seasoned operators, all dressed in black tactical gear and carrying suppressed automatic rifles. Within three minutes, a convoy of four dark sedans rolled silently into the gravel yard.
Salvatore Romano stepped out of the lead vehicle. At sixty-two, the Romano patriarch was built like an oak barrel, his hair stark white, his face etched with deep scars from four decades of street warfare. Flanking him was his youngest son, Leo, the boy who owned the trattoria on Taylor Street, looking bewildered and terrified in an olive-green jacket.
""Dante,"" Salvatore said, his voice rumbling like thunder over the rain. He stepped forward alone, his hands empty and open. ""Your lawyer said someone used my crest to threaten your family. He said someone tried to frame my boy.""
Dante reached into his pocket and handed Salvatore the matchbooks and the crimson-inked crest that had been recovered from the gift box.
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure obsidian. He handed the matchbooks to his son, who began to tremble. ""Dad, I swear to God, I never gave these to anyone except regular customers at the diner! We keep them in a bowl near the cash register!""
""I know, Leo,"" Dante said calmly, stepping forward to clasp the young man's shoulder. ""Your father and I have had our differences, but I know Salvatore Romano. When he sends a message, it comes through a shotgun blast, not a piece of counterfeit paper tucked under a bomb. You were used, son. Just as Marcus was.""
Salvatore looked at Dante, a rare emotion flashing in the old man's eyes: profound respect. ""You could have retaliated. You could have hit my warehouses last night before asking a single question. Most men would have pulled the trigger.""
""A child stopped me,"" Dante answered honestly. ""A five-year-old girl who noticed what fifty grown men missed. And because of her, we know who the real monster is. Gregory Vance. Vanguard Logistics. He has military gas at the Grand Avenue yards, and he intends to poison the city at five p.m. to seize control of the trade hubs.""
Salvatore spat on the concrete floor, his face darkening with primeval rage. ""Vance. That parasitic bastard tried to buy my trucking routes two months ago. When I refused, he threatened to have federal regulators audit my businesses. Now he brings poison gas into our neighborhoods? Into the tunnels where our daughters and mothers ride the trains?""
Salvatore turned to his men and barked in rapid-fire Sicilian. The trunks of the four sedans popped open, revealing heavy machine guns, tactical body armor, and breaching charges.
""Tonight, there are no Morettis and no Romanos,"" Salvatore declared, extending his weathered, scarred right hand toward Dante. ""Tonight, we are the shield of Chicago. We wipe this corporate filth from our streets forever.""
Dante took Salvatore’s hand, gripping it with the iron strength of an ancient oath renewed. ""No survivors among Vance’s private mercenaries. We secure the canisters first. Then we pay a personal visit to Gregory Vance's penthouse.""
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Leo Romano swallowed hard, his voice trembling but determined. ""Mr. Moretti... what about the little girl who saved you? Is she safe?""
Dante looked at the young man, his gaze softening for a fraction of a second. ""She is sleeping in my home under twenty-four-hour guard. And before this night ends, she will see justice for the father she lost.""
