Chapter 2 - The Fire in the Alley
The cashier’s hands shook so violently that she dropped the scanning gun twice before managed to scan the six formula cans, three heavy winter jackets, and four packages of thermal baby blankets that Dante’s lieutenants had pulled from the front displays.
"That... that comes to four hundred and eighty-two dollars, sir," the cashier whispered, refusing to meet Dante’s eyes.
Dante pulled a money clip of crisp, crisp hundred-dollar bills from his inner coat pocket, tossed six bills onto the counter without waiting for change, and picked up the heavy brown paper bags with one hand.
He looked down at Lily. Her thin yellow dress was useless against the cold draft blowing through the glass doors. Without a word, Dante unbuttoned his heavy charcoal cashmere overcoat, draped it entirely around Lily and the twins like a protective tent, and held the heavy glass door open.
"Walk," Dante commanded softly.
"Where are we going?" Lily asked, her small boots swishing against the floor inside the oversized wool coat. "I can't leave this street. Clara told me to wait near the subway entrance."
"Your sister isn't at the subway entrance," Dante said as they stepped out into the howling Chicago blizzard.
parked at the curb sat a fleet of three massive, bulletproof black SUVs, their engines idling quietly, sending thick plumes of exhaust into the icy air.
A tall, broad-shouldered man named Marco—Dante’s primary lieutenant—stepped out of the lead vehicle, holding a thermal night-vision tablet.
"Boss," Marco said, his voice grim as he adjusted his ear communications piece. "We found the older sister. She's three blocks down, behind the old iron foundry on 8th Street. The Vanzini family's street crew cornered her."
Lily let out a sharp, terrified gasp. "Clara!"
Dante’s obsidian eyes turned cold as Arctic ice. He looked down at Lily, reaching down to lift her and the two babies effortlessly into the heated leather rear seat of the central SUV.
"Stay inside," Dante ordered her gently, pulling the heavy door closed. "Marco, secure the children."
Dante turned toward his secondary vehicle, his face hardening into an expression of absolute, merciless authority. "The rest of you, with me."
Three blocks away, in a narrow, trash-strewn alleyway behind the abandoned iron foundry, Clara Vance stood backed against a rusted metal fire escape.
Clara was nineteen years old, tall, slender, with dark golden hair pulled into a messy knot, her pale skin bruised and smudged with soot from the apartment fire that had destroyed their lives twelve hours ago. She wore a thin denim jacket over a torn sweater, her hands raw and red from the freezing cold.
Standing in front of her were three men in heavy leather coats—street enforcers working for Mario Vanzini, the head of a rival crime syndicate currently attempting to seize control of the city's eastern docks.
"Please," Clara begged, her voice hoarse as she held her hands up in defense. "My father paid off his debt before the fire! He didn't owe Mr. Vanzini anything!"
"Your old man owed two hundred grand, girl," the lead enforcer snarled, stepping closer and grabbing Clara’s denim collar, dragging her forward into the dim yellow glow of a streetlight. "The fire was just interest. Now, since you don't have the cash, Vanzini says you come with us to work it off in the South Side clubs."
"No!" Clara screamed, striking out with her right fist, landing a solid strike across the man's jaw.
The enforcer stumbled back, growling in fury. He raised his heavy leather-gloved hand to strike her down onto the frozen cobblestones.
THUD.
A single, muffled gunshot echoed through the narrow alleyway.
The lead enforcer froze, his eyes widening in shock as he looked down at the dark hole blown through his right thigh. He collapsed onto his knees, screaming in pain against the frozen ground.
The other two enforcers whipped out their handguns, turning frantically toward the mouth of the alley.
Out of the swirling white blizzard walked Dante Moretti.
He carried no visible weapon, his long black suit jacket blowing in the winter wind, his hands casually tucked into his trousers pockets. Behind him, four heavy tactical officers stepped out of the shadows, their suppressed rifles raised and pointed with absolute precision.
"D-Don Moretti!" the wounded enforcer gasped, clutching his bleeding leg on the ice. "This... this is Vanzini territory! You have no business here!"
Dante stopped three paces away. He didn't look at the men on the ground. He looked at Clara Vance.
Despite the soot, the bruises, and the wild terror in her dark blue eyes, Clara stood tall against the brick wall. Her jaw was set, her shoulders squared, her spirit wholly unbroken even in the face of death. She carried the exact same fierce, unyielding fire that Dante had seen in her eight-year-old sister ten minutes earlier.
"You're Clara Vance," Dante said softly, his deep voice cutting through the whistling wind.
Clara swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she looked at the towering stranger. "Who are you? Did Vanzini send you too?"
Dante slowly stepped forward, stepping directly over the bleeding enforcer without looking down. He pulled a clean, silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it out to her.
"My name is Dante Moretti," he said smoothly. "And your sister is currently sitting in my car, drinking warm milk with your brothers."
Clara’s eyes went wide. The strength that had held her upright for twenty-four hours straight suddenly dissolved into sheer, overwhelming relief.
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"Lily..." Clara whispered, her knees buckling beneath her.
Before she could touch the cold cobblestones, Dante caught her by the waist, his broad, warm hand holding her firmly against his chest.
