Chapter 3 - THE VIPER AT THE TABLE
Alderman Thomas Vance was a man who wore three-thousand-dollar suits to hide a sewer rat's soul. He sat in the grand study of the Costello estate, sipping espresso, his polished leather shoes resting uninvited on the edge of Luca’s mahogany coffee table.
Beside him stood two heavy-set men in dark topcoats—enforcers from the Capelli crime syndicate, the very rivals Marco had claimed to keep at bay.
When Luca wheeled himself into the room through the side double doors, Vance didn't bother to stand or remove his feet from the table.
"Luca," Vance said with a patronizing, greasy smile. "You’re looking... frail. Marco’s sudden 'retirement' to Florida seems to have disrupted your domestic arrangements."
Luca stopped his wheelchair behind his desk. He wore his usual charcoal cardigan, a wool blanket draped neatly over his lap to hide the leg braces and electric pads beneath.
"Marco didn't retire to Florida, Thomas," Luca said calmly. "And you know it. What brings the city's most expensive politician to my home without an appointment?"
Vance took his feet off the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The fake warmth melted from his face, replaced by the ugly, predatory hunger of a politician who believed his benefactor was dying.
"Let's skip the theater, Luca," Vance said smoothly. "For twelve years, Marco was the guy who delivered the envelopes to my office. Marco was the guy who negotiated the port concessions. You sat in this room, signing papers and looking like a regal relic of the nineties. But Marco is gone. And the Capelli family has taken over the eastern shipping docks as of six o'clock this morning."
Luca’s face remained a mask of carved marble. "The Capellis are trespassing on my territory."
Vance laughed—a sharp, grating sound. "Your territory? Luca, look at yourself. You can't leave this room without a ramp. You haven't stepped onto a street in twelve years. The Capellis are offering thirty percent more on the city development contracts, and they have fifty guys in the streets who can actually stand on two feet."
The two Capelli enforcers behind Vance chuckled softly, crossing their arms over their chests.
"What are you proposing, Thomas?" Luca asked, his voice dangerously soft.
"I’m proposing a peaceful transition of power," Vance said, pulling a legal document from his leather briefcase and sliding it across the desk. "You sign over the lease rights to the eastern docks and the Gary rail yards to the Capelli Holding Group. In exchange, the Capellis agree to let you keep this estate, your security team, and a two-percent tribute on the shipping revenue. You live out your retirement in peace, watching the lake."
Luca looked down at the document. It was a complete surrender agreement—a document that would strip the Costello syndicate of its primary economic engine and turn Luca into a glorified pensioner living at the mercy of his bitterest rivals.
"And if I refuse?" Luca asked.
Vance’s eyes narrowed into slits. "If you refuse, the city building inspectors will condemn this estate by Friday. The police department will execute a dozen search warrants on your warehouses in Cicero. And the Capellis... well, the Capellis aren't as polite as Marco was. Accidents happen to big houses, Luca. Fires start. People get hurt. Even little girls who wander through gaps in the privet hedge."
The room temperature seemed to plunge forty degrees.
Luca didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. But under the wool blanket draped over his lap, his right leg—the leg that Dr. Reed had said was still months away from full function—spasmed with a sudden, violent surge of raw power.
"You threaten a child in my home, Thomas?" Luca whispered.
"I'm giving you facts," Vance sneered, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "You have forty-eight hours to sign those papers, Luca. Otherwise, the city sweeps you away like the trash you are."
Vance turned toward the door, gesturing for his two Capelli enforcers to follow him.
"Thomas," Luca called out softly.
Vance stopped near the door, looking back over his shoulder with an arrogant smirk. "Yes?"
"Tell Dominic Capelli that I remember the war of 2008," Luca said, his dark eyes locking onto the politician with absolute, terrifying certainty. "Tell him I remembered how his father died in a car crash in Milwaukee. And tell him that when I take the docks back, I won't be using a pen."
Vance’s smirk flickered for a fraction of a second, but he scoffed, turned, and walked out, his heavy boots echoing down the marble hallway.
When the front door slammed shut, Frank—Luca’s head of security—stepped out from behind the heavy velvet curtains near the bookcase, a silenced pistol held ready in his hand.
"Boss," Frank said, his face pale with rage. "Give the word. I'll take three guys and put Vance in the river tonight."
"No," Luca said, his fingers gripping the mahogany armrests of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles turned white. "Vance is just the mouth. Dominic Capelli is the head. If we strike Vance, the city sends fifty cops to this driveway tomorrow."
Luca pulled the wool blanket off his legs. He looked down at the steel braces strapped to his calves, then looked up at Frank.
"Frank," Luca said.
May you like
"Yes, boss?"
"Call Dr. Reed," Luca commanded, his voice ringing like a iron bell. "Tell her to double the electric current on the therapy machine. We don't have six months anymore."
