Chapter 6 - The Feast of Vipers
The Chicago Cultural Center’s Preston Bradley Hall was breathtaking, home to the world’s largest Tiffany stained-glass dome. But today, the grand neoclassical hall had been transformed into an armed compound. Men in dark overcoats lined the marble staircases, their hands tucked inside their lapels, scanning every shadow.
Emma walked through the brass-framed doors with her hand resting firmly in the crook of Roman’s arm. She wore the emerald-green velvet dress he had selected for her, its rich fabric catching the light beneath the massive glass dome. Every eye in the room snapped toward them the moment their boots echoed against the polished marble.
At the center of the hall stood a long banquet table. Seated at the head was Mateo Castiglione—a man in his late fifties with slicked-back silver hair, cold predatory eyes, and a cruel, thin mouth. Flanking him were four heavily armed lieutenants and a lawyer clutching a leather briefcase.
""Roman,"" Mateo called out, his voice dripping with false hospitality. ""You brought a guest to a business discussion. How utterly charming.""
Roman pulled out an ornate wooden chair, waiting for Emma to sit before taking the seat beside her. He leaned back, resting his hands casually on the armrests, exuding absolute dominion over the room.
""You broke protocol, Mateo,"" Roman said, skipping the formalities entirely. ""You sent men into a residential zone without clearing it through the High Commission. You discharged illegal munitions on Kedzie Avenue.""
Mateo let out a mocking chuckle, spreading his hands wide. ""A simple misunderstanding of real estate acquisition, my friend. We bought the debt on that brownstone. We were merely evicting squatters. How was I to know that your little restaurant server was occupying the third floor?""
Mateo’s gaze slid slowly to Emma, his eyes raking over her like a vulture evaluating a carcass. ""She cleans up nicely, Roman. A bit rough around the edges for a man of your refined tastes, wouldn't you say? Her mother was a night cleaner, wasn't she? Rebecca Callahan? Died penniless in County Hospital, leaving behind a mountain of medical debt.""
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingernails bit into her palms beneath the table. The urge to shrink away, to hide behind Roman, screamed through her mind. But then she remembered Roman’s words by the fireplace: Don't lie to yourself. Build the wall, or let them tear it down.
Emma sat up straight. She leaned forward against the polished oak table, staring directly into Mateo’s cold eyes without blinking.
""My mother worked honest hours for every dime she earned, Mr. Castiglione,"" Emma said, her voice ringing clear and steady through the cavernous hall. ""Which is more than anyone can say for the cowards you sent to my apartment last night. Next time you want to evict someone, come do it yourself instead of hiding behind men who can't aim straight.""
A dead, suffocating silence dropped over Preston Bradley Hall.
The lieutenants stiffened. Mateo’s smile vanished, replaced by an ugly, twitching rage. For three agonizing seconds, nobody breathed.
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Then, Roman laughed. It was a low, genuine sound of utter amusement that sliced right through the tension.
""You heard her, Mateo,"" Roman said, his eyes darkening to slate gray. ""She thinks you're a coward. And frankly, I agree with her.""
