Chapter Eight
Dante
From the street, Cielo Rosso is the picture of sophistication.
Light spills from tall arched windows; the glow from candles and antique sconces reflects off white tablecloths and polished crystal.
The sign above the door is a simple red sky fading into black with the name in script.
It suggests both romance and beauty. Couples on dates and families step inside expecting fine wine and traditional Italian recipes. And that’s exactly what they get.
The pasta is hand-cut, the sauces simmer for hours, and the tiramisu is legendary. To the public, Cielo Rosso, Italian for “red sky,” is one of the crown jewels of Chicago’s dining scene. To the criminal underbelly, it represents something much different.
The best tables are reserved for senators, CEOs, and judges.
The powerful elite. The ones who dine here knowing they have both my protection and guaranteed silence.
Restaurant staff are my own soldiers, and the kitchen doors leading to a back hallway are guarded by two men who never touch the food but carry guns under their jackets.
Cielo Rosso is mine, my throne room disguised as a restaurant. The private dining room upstairs, with velvet curtains and soundproof walls, is where enemies are reminded whose city this really is. Tonight is no different.
The restaurant is one of the many I own and has been emptied of customers for the meeting tonight. White linen covers the tables, and candles flicker, though no one will taste any food or enjoy any of the ambiance or hospitality usually present.
Sitting at the head of the long table, I appear relaxed. Luca is on my right, and other Vescari soldiers fan out along the walls. There are several stationed in strategic locations outside in case things don’t go as planned.
Across from me, lounges Severin Scarletta, his gold rings catching the light, and his dark hair is slicked back.
He’s wearing his ever-present gloating sneer.
One that makes me want to hold a torch to his fucking face until he smells his own flesh burn.
The man has become more than just a nuisance, and it’s time to neutralize him.
If I didn’t have to worry about Evangeline, it would be easy to just end his miserable life right now, making an example out of him for others who wanted to test my boundaries. Hell, if it weren’t for her, Silas Hart would also have learned a painful lesson for daring to cross me.
But I do worry about her; therefore, this meeting will serve as a warning while I plan to end their little game at Hart Pharmacy without hurting my woman in the process.
It’s obvious Scarletta’s people are jumpy. Their hands are too close to their jackets, and they can’t seem to stand still. I can tell Luca doesn’t like it, and he signals to our men to be on guard.
Scarletta leans forward to speak first; his voice coming out high-pitched, not at all what you would expect from a small-time mob boss.
“So, I hear you are upset that I’ve shown an interest in the little pharmacy on Market Street, Dante.”
Luca corrects him with a dark warning in his voice. “It’s Mr. Vescari to you. You aren’t on a first-name basis, asshole. He isn’t your friend. You will show him respect.”
Scarlett makes a disgruntled noise and pauses, waiting for my reaction. When I remain passive, he continues, “Well, Mr. Vescari... it’s a sweet place. Owned by the Hart family.”
My jaw flexes, but my expression doesn’t flicker as I reach over and pour myself a glass of wine, my movements slow and steady. By waiting minutes before responding, I’ve learned that silence makes people uncomfortable, and Scarletta is visibly itching with impatience for what I’ll say next.
“Used to be under your protection, too,” he says, taunting me, seeing what I’ll say or do.
After a few more uncomfortable minutes, finally, my gravelly voice carries across the table. “That pharmacy is and always has been under Vescari protection. It appears you’ve overstepped, Scarletta.”
Scarletta smirks and laughs. “Hey,” he shrugs. “You’ve let your territory bleed, Vescari. Your father would never have let that happen. But then maybe it’s time to let some new leadership take over.”
When I don’t react, he adds, “Besides, I happen to like the little pharmacy. Very lucrative side business, I hear. And the shopgirl, the niece. She’s a pretty little thing, all sweet and na?ve. Be a shame if she got hurt because her uncle doesn’t understand who’s in charge now.”
He exchanges a smile with his underboss, Antony, sitting next to him. I can tell he’s brought up Evangeline to test my reaction. He knows I’ve been talking to her. This is his way of telling me he’s watching.
“Yeah, be a shame if she had an accident,” Antony says, “or if I had to break her in first.” His beady eyes gleam with anticipation at the thought.
As the temperature in the room drops, the air thickens. Luca tenses, hand hovering on his switchblade, but I lift two fingers and wait. There’s stillness, silence. Face still impassive, I down my wine and set my glass down with care. My stare is locked on Scarletta.
“You’ve made a critical mistake,” I murmur, slowly rising to my feet. My voice is low, more gravel than words, and I know it sounds more frightening than if I’d screamed. They are all looking around, not sure what I’m doing when I stand.
But I don’t go for Scarletta. I didn’t need to, not now anyway. His time is coming though.
Instead, my gaze cuts to one of Scarletta’s soldiers lingering near the wall, grinning as if they have won the battle. I’ve been clocking him since they walked in. He has his hand in his coat and has the nervous energy of someone with an itchy trigger finger.
Before anyone can breathe, and without so much as aiming, my hand moves, the weight of cold steel filling my palm, and I pull the trigger. The shot splits the air and cracks like thunder, reverberating through the empty restaurant.
The Scarletta’s soldier’s head snaps backward, a crimson mist blooming behind him before his body even registers death. He crumples, his blood, from the single shot between his eyes, painting the floor’s white tiles red. His eyes are still open, still surprised, staring into nothing.
Scarletta’s other men flinch, hands flying to their weapons until they see Vescari guns already leveled on each one of them. Deadly steady. Waiting for a signal. My signal.
I slowly stroll back over to the table; my steps the only sound echoing across the room, and carefully set the smoking barrel beside Scarletta’s untouched wine glass. The movements are calm. Controlled.
“You think you can touch what’s fucking mine?” I ask him, referring to both Evangeline and the business. The low rasp of my voice makes it sound like a growl. Placing one heavy hand on Antony’s shoulder, my grip tightens until bones shift beneath his skin.
“Men have threatened me before,” I continue, leaning close so my breath brushes Antony’s ear. “But those men are buried in the ground. I didn’t blink then. I won’t blink now.”
With a sudden snap, I slam Antony’s head forward into the table. Wine glasses shatter, the crimson wine spilling like blood across the white cloth.
Antony is unconscious, his broken nose a mangled mess on his face, oozing blood.
“I end men for less. I don’t care if it’s your soldier, your underboss, or you sitting across from me. If you ever bring her into this again or attempt a move on my territory, I’ll make sure you choke on your own cock before I fillet you like a fucking fish.” I say, directing my words to Scarletta.
Scarletta’s bravado falters under the weight of my stare. The room is silent but for Scarletta’s ragged breath. He glances at the body cooling on the tiles, then back at me.
I take my seat, smoothing my coat, and pouring another glass of wine, the movements deliberate and precise
“Now,” I say, as if nothing had happened, “let’s talk about my territory.”