Chapter 7 - The Sit-Down
The old exchange house was a historic, windowless brick building near the stockyards—a place where the city's old factions had settled their bloodiest disputes for a century. The air inside was cold, smelling of old timber and copper dust.
Bella insisted on going. She refused to hide in the penthouse while men decided her fate in a dark room. She sat beside Dante at the long oak table, dressed in a simple, elegant black dress Isabella had bought for her.
Across the table sat Sal Moretti—an older man with yellowed teeth and a face lined with a lifetime of cruelty.
"You brought a waitress to an exchange meeting, Dante?" Moretti sneered, lighting a cigar. "You really have gone soft. The old man must be rolling in his grave."
"The waitress is the director of a federal non-profit foundation, Sal," Dante said, his voice smooth and deadly calm. "And she has a better memory than your soldiers. She’s already identified the two men who brought gasoline to her building to the federal district attorney."
Moretti’s cigar paused halfway to his mouth. "You went to the feds?"
"I am a private citizen, Mr. Moretti," Bella spoke up, her voice ringing clearly through the hollow room. She didn't flinch as the old man glared at her. "I don't play by your rules, and I don't pay your taxes. If my building burns, the federal government investigates you for domestic terrorism. Let's see how your construction permits hold up under that kind of smoke."
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Dante leaned forward, placing his large hand over Bella’s on the table, his fingers interlocking with hers with absolute, practiced familiarity.
"The girl is sovereign, Sal," Dante said, his eyes narrowing. "If a single match is struck near her building, or near her mother’s home, I won't use the law. I will use everything my father left me. And you know exactly what that means."
