Chapter 8 - The Summit at Midnight
The atmosphere in the restaurant dropped to absolute zero.
Every head turned toward the entrance. Vincent Kane stood framed in the doorway, his dark wool coat unbuttoned, his tall silhouette commanding the entire space without a single word of introduction. Behind him, four men in matching black coats stepped inside, securing the perimeter with quiet, terrifying efficiency.
Tommy G and his partner looked like they had just seen a ghost. They backed away slowly until their backs hit the glass door, their hands raised defensively.
“Mr. Kane!” Tommy squeaked, his voice cracking. “We—we didn't know! Marcone said—he didn't know this place belonged to you!”
“Sal Marcone is a shortsighted fool who mistakes cowardice for business acumen,” Vincent said, stepping slowly across the floor until he stood directly in front of the two thugs. He looked down at them with absolute, freezing contempt. “Tell Marcone to be at my warehouse on Dock Street tonight at midnight. If he’s late, I’ll start without him. And bring his checkbook.”
“Y-yes, sir! Right away, Mr. Kane!” Tommy stammered. The two men practically tripped over each other scrambling out the door, disappearing into the rainy Chicago night as fast as their legs could carry them.
The restaurant remained dead silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, the murmurs of the remaining diners resumed, comforted by the immovable presence of the man who kept the dark things away.
Mara walked over to Vincent, letting out a soft sigh as she ran a hand through her hair.
“You didn't have to come all the way down here, Vincent,” she said, though there was a clear tone of appreciation in her voice. “Marcus had the situation entirely under control.”
“I know he did,” Vincent replied, his dark eyes turning toward her, softening noticeably as the hard edges of his mob-boss persona receded. “But I happened to be in the neighborhood. And frankly, I wanted to see how Rory was doing with her host duties.”
I hopped down from my booth and trotted over, clutching my coloring book. “I told them we were closing, Mr. Kane! Just like you taught me!”
Vincent looked down at me, and for a fleeting second, a real, warm smile touched his lips—one that only ever appeared when he was with us. He knelt down slightly so he was at my eye level.
“You did wonderfully, Rory,” Vincent said softly, patting my head gently. “You’re the toughest little guardian this restaurant could ever ask for.”
He stood back up, looking at Mara. “As for Marcone… don't worry about him. By tomorrow morning, he and his little collection agency will be operating out of a different zip code. Permanently.”
Mara nodded slowly, her expression warm. “Thank you, Vincent. Truly. Stay for a cup of coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”
May you like
Vincent looked at the cozy dining room, then back at Mara and me, and for once, the most feared man in Chicago looked completely at home.
“I believe I would like that very much,” he said.
