Chapter 3 - Shadows of Revenge
By midnight, Sterling’s Bistro was closed, but the lights inside were still burning bright.
Julian Sterling had been escorted off the premises by Mr. Kane’s men, screaming threats into the cold Chicago night, promising that he had powerful friends who would make everyone pay.
Inside, my mother sat at a corner table with a hot cup of tea, staring at the stack of cash in front of her as if it were a dream that might vanish if she blinked. Mr. Kane’s men were quietly securing the doors, changing the locks, and wiping down the bar.
I was sitting on a plush leather booth, my legs dangling off the edge, drinking a glass of warm chocolate milk that Mr. Kane’s lieutenant, Dominic, had made for me himself. Dominic was a six-foot-four enforcer with scars across his knuckles, but he had placed three marshmallows into my mug with the utmost tenderness.
"Drink up, little warrior," Dominic grunted gently, patting my head with a hand the size of a dinner plate.
Mr. Kane walked over, pulling up a chair across from my mother.
"The police won't bother you, Elena," Mr. Kane explained, setting a leather folder on the table. "Julian Sterling has been operating an illegal tax evasion scheme through his food supply contracts for three years. My team just delivered those records to the Federal Bureau. By sunrise, Sterling won't be worrying about a restaurant. He will be worrying about twenty years in federal prison."
Tears spilled over my mother’s cheeks again, but this time, they weren't tears of fear. "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Kane. I was so hopeless. I thought... I thought we were going to end up on the street next week."
"You don't need to thank me," Mr. Kane said quietly, his eyes lingering on the small drawing of purple stars I had left on his table earlier. "A long time ago, I had a little sister. She was around Rory's age. My family lived in a cold apartment in South Chicago. When the local slumlord shut off our heat in the middle of winter, nobody stood up for us. I swore that when I took control of this city, no child on my turf would ever starve while rich men played with keychains."
He stood up, adjusting his coat. "The restaurant will reopen on Monday under your name. I've assigned Dominic to be your personal security driver for the next few weeks."
"Security?" My mother looked up, concern flickering across her face. "Do you think Julian will come back?"
"Julian is a coward," Mr. Kane said coldly. "Insects only bite when you turn your back on them. Dominic will make sure your back is always protected."
Two days later, the neighborhood was buzzing with rumors.
Signs went up over the entrance: ELENA’S BISTRO - UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT.
The local community—the line cooks, the dishwashers, the dry cleaners down the street—couldn't believe it. The arrogant Julian Sterling was gone, and the kindest waitress in the neighborhood was now running the show.
But Julian Sterling wasn't done.
Driven insane by humiliation and the loss of his fortune, Sterling didn't go to the police. Instead, he took the last fifty thousand dollars he had stashed in a offshore account and drove to the West Side—into the territory of the Moretti family, Vincent Kane’s bitterest rivals.
Inside a dark, smoke-filled pool hall on 14th Street, Sterling knelt before Mario Moretti, a ruthless lieutenant known for burning down businesses that refused to pay protection money.
"Kane took my business and gave it to a waitress!" Sterling pleaded, his voice high and hysterical. "If you help me burn that place to the ground and take out the girl, I’ll give you fifty percent of the insurance payout! It will show the whole city that Vincent Kane can't protect his own turf!"
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Mario Moretti blew a cloud of gray smoke into Sterling’s face, a slow, malicious grin spreading across his mouth.
"Vincent Kane soft-hearted over a waitress and a little kid?" Moretti chuckled darkly. "That’s the first time I’ve heard of the ghost of Chicago bleeding for a charity case. You’ve got a deal, Julian. We burn the place down on opening night."
