Chapter 3 - Unwanted Benefactors and Deadly Debts
The building that housed Bridge House was a sprawling,
brick structure built in the late 1920s.
Its paint was peeling near the windows,
and the yellow streetlights outside flickered against the heavy rain.
I stood across the street,
shielded beneath a large black umbrella held by Marco.
Through the tall glass doors of the shelter,
I could see Hannah.
She was wearing a faded blue apron over her clothes,
bent down in front of a little boy who looked no older than seven.
She was tying his shoes,
smiling warmly as she handed him a bright red backpack.
The warmth in her face was undeniable.
It was a look I had never seen on anyone in my immediate circle.
In my world,
smiles were weapons,
disguises,
or temporary truces meant to hide a knife behind the back.
Her smile was pure,
unfiltered light.
Suddenly,
a loud commotion echoed down the block.
Two sleek black sedans pulled up violently to the curb right in front of Bridge House,
splashing dirty puddle water onto the building's steps.
Four men climbed out,
dressed in cheap leather coats and heavy gold chains.
I recognized them instantly.
Moretti’s West Side enforcers.
The lead man was Tommy "The Teeth" Rizzuto,
a mid-level thug known for shaking down local business owners for protection money.
"Boss,"
Marco muttered,
his hand reaching beneath his coat toward his shoulder holster.
"Should I end this now?"
"Wait,"
I said,
my voice dripping with ice.
"Let me see what they came for."
Tommy slammed the shelter door open,
striding inside with his three men trailing behind him.
The children in the lobby gasped,
scuttering behind desks and chairs like frightened mice.
Hannah immediately stepped forward,
placing her body between the thugs and the young boy she had just helped.
"Tommy,"
Hannah said,
her voice steady despite the obvious danger.
"You are not allowed on these premises.
This is a safe zone for children."
"Safe zone?"
Tommy laughed,
a harsh,
grating sound that echoed off the high concrete ceiling.
"Nothing on Western Avenue is a safe zone,
little lady.
Your landlord,
Arthur Vance,
is three months behind on his tax obligations to Mr. Moretti.
Since Vance can't pay,
Mr. Moretti is taking this building as collateral."
Hannah stood her ground,
her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.
"Arthur Vance doesn't own this building outright,"
she countered fiercely.
"We have a legal lease agreement through 2028.
You cannot evict ninety-two children because of someone else's debts!"
Tommy stepped closer,
invading her personal space with an ugly,
intimidating grin.
He reached out a gloved hand,
patting her cheek disrespectfully.
"Leases are just pieces of paper,
sweetheart.
Around here,
we rewrite the paper whenever we feel like—"
He never finished the sentence.
The shelter door swung open with a slow,
deliberate creak.
I stepped inside,
shaking the rain off my umbrella.
Marco and four of my heavily armed security personnel followed close behind,
their tall frames blocking out the light from the street.
The air in the room instantly turned cold.
Tommy froze,
his hand still hanging in the air near Hannah’s face.
He turned his head slowly,
and when his eyes met mine,
every drop of color drained from his face.
"Nathan...
Mr. Mercer,"
Tommy stammered,
taking a quick step backward.
"We...
we didn't know this was your territory."
I walked toward him slowly,
my leather dress shoes clicking against the linoleum floor.
I didn't raise my voice.
I didn't draw a weapon.
I simply stopped six inches from Tommy’s trembling frame.
"You touched her,"
I whispered,
my tone so dark it made the enforcers behind him shiver.
"Mr. Mercer,
please,"
Tommy pleaded,
raising his hands in surrender.
"We were just collecting for Dante.
We didn't know—"
"You touched her cheek,"
I repeated,
stepping closer until my chest pressed against his shoulder.
"Which hand did you use,
Tommy?"
Tommy’s lips trembled violently.
He couldn't speak.
Hannah stepped forward,
her face pale as she looked between me and the terrified thug.
"Nathan,
stop,"
she breathed,
her voice trembling with genuine shock.
"Don't do this here.
Not in front of the kids."
I glanced back at her.
Her brown eyes were wide with fear,
not of Tommy,
but of me.
She was looking at the monster everyone in Chicago talked about.
I took a deep breath,
forcing the violent surge of rage back down into the dark abyss where it belonged.
"Marco,"
I commanded quietly.
"Take Tommy and his boys outside.
Break the fingers on his right hand so he remembers never to touch a woman on Western Avenue again,
then send them back to Dante with a message."
"What message,
boss?"
"Tell Dante that Bridge House is under my personal protection.
May you like
If his men come within three blocks of this street again,
I will burn his entire West Side operation to the ground."
