Chapter 4 - The War for the Loop
The Chicago I saw from the window of the armored SUV on the way to the Kane Building did not look like the city I grew up in.
Police cars with flashing red and blue lights were parked at major intersections. Dark sedans were parked on the sidewalks outside restaurants and clubs, heavy-set men in dark coats standing on every corner, watching the traffic with cold, watchful eyes.
When we pulled into the subterranean garage beneath the Kane Building, the iron security gate slammed shut behind us with a loud, hydraulic boom.
There were at least thirty armed men standing in the garage, checking weapons, loading heavy black magazines, and talking in sharp, clipped sentences.
Salvatore carried me into the private elevator, using a thick red key card to bypass all the floors and head straight to the top.
When the elevator doors opened into the grand corner office, it didn't look like an office anymore. It looked like a war room.
Architectural blueprints of the city were spread across the giant walnut desk. Computer monitors showed live feeds of docks, warehouses, and street corners across Chicago. Five of Vincent's highest-ranking captains were standing around the table, listening to Vincent speak.
Vincent was standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass window, looking out over the misty, rain-slicked city. His black jacket was off, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the dark, thick tattoos on his forearms—tattoos I had rarely seen before, intricate designs of snakes, daggers, and Latin words.
He turned his head as the elevator doors opened.
The moment his eyes landed on me sitting on Sal's hip, the cold, lethal expression on his face completely melted away.
"Leave us," Vincent commanded his captains.
"Boss, we still need to clear the North Side docks—" one of the captains began.
"Leave us," Vincent repeated, his voice dropping into that dark, unquestionable register.
The men instantly gathered their maps and cleared out, nodding to Sal and me as they filed into the private conference room next door.
Sal set me down on the soft rug. I didn't wait. I ran across the room and threw my arms around Vincent's waist, burying my face in his crisp white shirt.
Vincent flinched slightly—a rare show of surprise—before his large arms came around me, pulling me tight against his chest. He lifted me effortlessly, setting me down on the edge of his giant walnut desk right on top of a map of the West Side.
He reached out, his long fingers cupping my chin, turning my face gently from left to right as he inspected me for injuries.
"He didn't touch you?" Vincent asked, his voice low and vibrating with a quiet, terrifying anger.
"No, Mr. Vincent," I murmured. "I remembered what Mommy said. I ran to the gym and hid behind the wrestling mats."
Vincent let out a long, slow breath through his nose. He reached out and smoothed down my messy hair, his touch infinitely gentle despite the dangerous energy crackling around him.
"You were very brave, Rory," he whispered. "Smarter than half the men who work for me."
"Frankie said... he said the Valentis were taking over," I looked into his dark eyes. "Are they going to hurt you?"
Vincent gave a tiny, cold shadow of a smile. He reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out the small glass jar of milk chocolates, and set it beside me on the desk.
"Don Valenti made a very bad mistake today, half-pint," Vincent said softly. "He thought because I stopped wearing brass knuckles and started wearing three-piece suits, I forgot how I built this city."
He leaned closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine with that same absolute certainty he had shown five years ago in the back room of Sterling's Bistro.
"He thought he could use a little girl to make me bow," Vincent continued. "He forgot that I don't bow to anyone."
"What are you going to do?" I asked, clutching a chocolate in my small hand.
"I'm going to finish this," Vincent said flatly. "Tonight."
He turned to Salvatore, who was standing by the door like a silent gargoyle.
"Salvatore."
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Take Rory home to her mother. Double the perimeter guard at the Maple Street house. Put four snipers on the roof across the street. If anything moves on that block that doesn't belong, tear it apart."
"Understood, Boss."
Vincent looked back at me. He reached down, unclasped the heavy silver signet ring from his right pinky finger—the one with the Kane family crest carved into the dark steel—and pressed it into my small palm, folding my fingers over it.
"Keep this safe for me until tomorrow morning, Rory," Vincent said softly. "I'll come pick it up when the sun comes up."
I looked down at the heavy ring resting in my hand. It was warm from his skin, heavy enough to weigh down my small fist.
"You promise?" I asked, looking up into his eyes. "You'll come pick it up?"
Vincent Kane reached out, his big thumb brushing a tear off my cheek.
"I never break a promise to you, kid," he said gently. "Now go home."
That night, the sky over Chicago was torn apart by rain, thunder, and sounds that didn't sound like thunder at all.
Mommy and I sat together on the big plush sofa in the living room of the Maple Street house. The curtains were drawn tight, the lights were kept dim, and outside, I could hear the faint, low idle of black sedans sitting at the end of the block.
Mommy held me close, reading from a book about stars and galaxies, her voice steady and soothing even though I could feel her hands trembling every time a siren wailed in the distance.
May you like
I kept my right hand tightly clenched inside my hoodie pocket, my small fingers wrapped around the heavy silver signet ring.
I didn't sleep a single minute. I watched the shadows on the wall, counting the hours, waiting for the storm to pass.
