Chapter 8 - The Clean-Up
At 7:45 p.m., Clara slipped out of the penthouse. She had pawned a small diamond bracelet Dante had bought her, securing exactly fifty thousand dollars in cash. Enzo had protested her leaving, but she had managed to slip out the service elevator while he was distracted by a delivery.
The alley behind Mario’s Bakery was pitch black and freezing. Clara clutched the heavy envelope to her chest, her breath pluming in the icy air.
“I knew you’d come,” Mark stepped out from behind a dumpster, a greedy smile plastered across his face. “Hand it over, Clara.”
Clara stepped forward, her hands shaking. “If I give you this, you never come near me or Leo again. Understand?”
Before she could hand him the envelope, the roar of a V8 engine shattered the silence.
A black SUV tore into the alley, pinning Mark against the brick wall with its headlights. The doors flew open, and four men in suits stepped out. Dante was the last to emerge, looking like the grim reaper in a custom wool overcoat.
“Dante,” Clara gasped, dropping the envelope in the snow.
Dante didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on Mark, burning with a quiet, homicidal rage.
“You think you can extort my wife in my city?” Dante asked, his voice echoing off the brick walls. He walked slowly toward Mark, who was trembling violently.
“I—I was just—” Mark stammered.
Dante didn't let him finish. He grabbed Mark by the throat with one hand, lifting him until his toes barely grazed the asphalt.
“Listen to me very carefully, you pathetic excuse for a man,” Dante hissed. “If you ever breathe Clara’s name again, if you ever look in her direction, I will bury you in a foundation of one of my high-rises. You are leaving Chicago tonight. And if you ever come back, you won’t leave breathing.”
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Dante threw him to the ground. Mark scrambled to his feet, sobbing, and ran down the alley as fast as his legs could carry him.
Dante turned to Clara. He looked furious.
