Chapter 2 - The Empire on the West Side
The transition out of the restaurant was as cinematic as it was terrifying. One of the massive bodyguards—introduced curtly as Marcus—escorted me to the employee locker room while the other two stayed with Salvatore to deal with Brett. I threw my worn-out sneakers into a plastic grocery bag, stripped off my grease-stained uniform shirt, and walked out the back service exit into the humid Chicago night.
A matte-black town car idled at the curb. The rear door clicked open, and Salvatore beckoned me inside.
The interior smelled of rich leather, expensive cologne, and rain. Salvatore sat across from me, a sleek tablet resting on his knees. For several blocks, neither of us spoke. The amber lights of the city streaked across the tinted windows, casting long, melancholic shadows over his scarred face.
“Why did you do it?” I finally asked, breaking the silence with my voice since we weren't signing just yet. “You could have just ignored me like you do everyone else.”
Salvatore looked up from his tablet, a faint, melancholic smile touching the corner of his mouth. He raised his hands.
Everyone who talks to me wants something. They want my protection, my money, my silence, or my blood. You didn't want anything. You just looked at me like a human being who happened to need a fork. He paused, his fingers slowing down. And you speak the language of my sister.
My chest tightened. “Your sister?”
Her name was Elena. She lost her hearing after a fever when we were kids. When our parents died, I swore I’d protect her. But in this world... enemies don't care if you can hear them coming. They struck through her silence. His jaw clenched, the scar pulling tight. I spent fifteen years building an empire so no one could ever hurt anyone I cared about again. But I forgot how to talk to people who didn't fear me.
The car pulled up to an imposing, wrought-iron gate in an upscale West Side neighborhood, guarded by stone lions and private security. The gates swung open, revealing a sprawling, fortress-like estate that looked like a modern European manor dropped into the heart of Illinois.
“This is where you live now,” Salvatore signed as the car rolled to a halt under the grand portico. “At least, until we figure out what you actually want to do with your life.”
“I can't stay here, Mr. Marquetti,” I said, panic flaring in my chest. “I have an apartment, I have a life—my brother—”
“Your brother,” Salvatore interrupted with a swift movement of his hands, “is named Leo. He’s nineteen, studying graphic design at UIC, and struggling to pay for his specialized software because his sister works double shifts for minimum wage.”
May you like
I froze, my blood running cold. “How do you...?”
I’m Salvatore Marquetti, he signed, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, omnipotent amusement. I know what people ate for breakfast three years ago if I care to look. And trust me, Tessa... your brother is going to be living in a very nice dorm room by tomorrow afternoon.
