Chapter 5 - THE DEVIL'S WALTZ
The abandoned cathedral in the South Side was neutral ground. Stripped of its pews and religious artifacts, it was nothing but cold stone and echoing silence.
Dante stood in the center of the nave, flanked by Enzo and four heavily armed guards.
The heavy wooden doors groaned open, and Vincent Caruso walked in. He wore a bespoke silver suit, looking every inch the legitimate businessman, flanked by ten men carrying automatic weapons.
“Dante,” Vincent called out, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “I must admit, I’m confused. A warehouse? My casinos? You’re bad for the economy, son.”
“I’m bad for your lifespan, Vincent,” Dante replied, not moving an inch.
Vincent chuckled, stopping twenty feet away. “Over what? The shipping lanes? We could have negotiated. There’s enough pie for everyone in Chicago.”
“This isn’t about shipping lanes.” Dante’s voice was lethal velvet. “This is about my wife.”
Vincent’s smile slipped for a fraction of a second before returning, nastier this time. “Ah. The beautiful Alara. I suppose Victor forgot to mention the condition she was in. A bit damaged, I admit, but she still played her part beautifully.”
Enzo shifted, his hand moving to his holster, but Dante raised two fingers, stopping him.
“She is a Moretti now,” Dante said, his voice dropping an octave. “And for every bruise on her body, I am going to take one of your businesses. For every tear she shed, I am going to take one of your men. And for the scar on her waist, I am going to take your head.”
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Vincent laughed loudly. “You arrogant brat. You think you can take me down over a used—”
Dante didn’t let him finish the sentence. He drew his weapon and fired a single shot. The bullet clipped Vincent’s ear, taking off the lobe in an explosion of red. The cathedral erupted into chaos as guns were drawn, but Dante was already moving, melting back into the shadows. The war had escalated from business to personal blood feud.
