Chapter 3 - The Fourteenth Street Settlement
The ride to the South Side was silent, dark, and terrifying. Daisy sat in the back of a luxury armored SUV, wrapped in a plush wool blanket Lorenzo had ordered Marco to give her. Lorenzo sat beside her, staring out the tinted window at the rain-slicked streets of Chicago. He didn't speak, but his fingers drummed a slow, rhythmic pattern against his knee.
The SUV pulled into the alleyway of an abandoned meatpacking warehouse on 14th Street at exactly 11:30 p.m. The headlights of the two Bianco SUVs illuminated the rusted corrugated steel doors of the building.
"Stay in the vehicle, Daisy," Lorenzo said, checking a matte-black pistol from his shoulder holster before concealing it beneath his coat.
"Lorenzo," she called out, using his first name without thinking.
He paused, his hand on the door handle, turning his head to look at her in the dim light of the cabin.
"Be careful," she whispered.
The smirk returned, smaller this time, almost tender. "They brought knives to a city inspection, Daisy. Don't worry."
Through the rain-streaked window, Daisy watched the scene unfold like a silent movie. Marco and four other heavily armed Bianco operatives forced the warehouse doors open. Within three minutes, they dragged three men out into the muddy alleyway.
One of them was Mick Vance. Even from the distance of the SUV, Daisy recognized his heavy build and the greasy leather jacket he wore. He wasn't arrogant now. He was on his knees in the mud, his face bloodied, his hands bound behind his back.
Lorenzo stepped into the light of the headlights. He didn't shout. He didn't draw his weapon. He simply stood over Vance, looking down at him as if he were a piece of defective fabric. He said something to Vance—a few short, quiet words.
Vance began to shake. He nodded frantically, his head pressing into the wet gravel of the alleyway, begging for something. Lorenzo reached into his coat, pulled out a document—the contract they had been reviewing before Daisy arrived—and dropped it onto Vance's wet back. Then, Lorenzo turned and walked back to the SUV without looking behind him.
Marco handled the rest. A single, sharp impact from a heavy boot broke Vance’s right ankle—a precise, literal return of the injury he had inflicted on Daisy. The men were left in the mud as the SUVs reversed out of the alleyway.
Lorenzo slid back into the seat beside Daisy, his coat smelling faintly of rain and ozone. He didn't have a scratch on him.
"It is done," he said, adjusting his cuffs. "The debt is canceled. The Maroni leftovers have agreed to vacate the South Side entirely by sunrise. Your shop is safe, Daisy."
Daisy let out a breath she felt she’d been holding since she inherited the shop. The tears came fast this time, silent and overwhelming. "Thank you. I don't know how I'll ever pay you back for this, Mr. Bianco. I don't have the kind of money it takes to hire someone like you."
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Lorenzo leaned closer, his large hand reaching out to catch a tear before it fell from her jaw. His skin was warm, his touch incredibly soft against her flushed cheek.
"I told you, Daisy, I am a businessman," he murmured, his storm-eyes locking onto her lips. "I don't work for free. You will pay me back with your hands. You are going to tailor every suit I wear for the next year. And you will start by staying at my estate until that ankle is fully healed. I don't like my assets working in substandard conditions."
