Chapter 3 - The Wine and the Wire
At 8:30 p.m., the atmosphere inside Blackwell's grand dining room was suffocatingly tense. Outside, the blizzard howled against the stained-glass windows, but inside, velvet curtains, soft jazz, and the clinking of crystal glasses hid the rot beneath the luxury.
Elena stood in the service pantry outside Private Suite A, wearing a crisp black waitress uniform. Her hands were clammy, the small USB drive tucked securely into the hidden seam of her left cuff.
Inside the suite, Senator Thomas Vance—a broad, arrogant man with silver hair and a multi-thousand-dollar suit—was laughing loudly with Sal Moretti, the younger brother of Don Moretti, the rival mob boss currently pushing to expand his territory into River North.
"I need two more bottles of the '96 Château Margaux," Marco, the head chef, whispered as he loaded the silver service cart. "Keep your eyes down, Elena. Pour smoothly. Don't look Vance in the eye. Men like him only notice people who make eye contact."
Elena took a deep, steadying breath, remembering her father’s advice: When you are terrified, act like you are invisible.
She pushed the double doors open, wheeling the heavy silver service cart into the lavishly appointed private dining room.
"...the zoning vote is locked for 9:00 a.m. tomorrow," Senator Vance was saying, slicing into a rare filet mignon. "Once the bulldozers clear out those Pilsen tenements, the ground lease transfers to your shell company in Delaware. Five million transferred to my offshore account in Grand Cayman."
"And Blackwell?" Sal Moretti asked, pouring water into his glass. "What about his influence in that ward?"
"Blackwell is old news," Vance scoffed, waving his fork dismissively. "He thinks he owns this city, but he's soft. He spends millions funding orphanages and community centers. He doesn't have the stomach for a real war anymore."
Elena moved silently behind the senator’s chair, holding the heavy bottle of wine in her right hand. Her left hand slid discreetly down toward the bottom shelf of the service cart.
Her fingers located the small black housing of the room's backup digital audio system, tucked out of sight beneath the linen skirt of the cart.
Four seconds, Dominick had told her. It takes four seconds for the drive to execute the script.
Elena tipped the bottle, pouring the deep red wine into Vance's crystal glass.
With her left hand beneath the table, she located the USB port by feel and slid the metal drive into the slot.
A tiny, invisible blue LED light flared beneath the cart.
One... two...
"Hey," Sal Moretti’s sharp voice suddenly barked.
Elena’s heart slammed into her throat. She kept pouring the wine, her hand completely steady, though her knees felt like water.
"You," Sal said, leaning across the table, pointing at Elena. "Server. Turn around."
Three...
Elena finished pouring, wiped the lip of the bottle with her white cloth, and turned slowly, keeping her head bowed respectfully. "Yes, sir? Is the vintage to your liking?"
Sal narrowed his eyes, staring intently at her face. "Have I seen you before? You look like that girl from the West Side... the one whose brother used to run packages for the Santos crew."
Elena felt a cold spike of horror. Her late brother, Leo, had died three years ago in a gang shooting—a tragedy that had pushed her to cut all ties with her old life and move across the city.
"I have no brothers, sir," Elena said smoothly, keeping her voice completely devoid of emotion. "I’ve worked in high-end hospitality for five years."
Four.
Beneath the cart, the blue light clicked off. The download was complete.
"Leave the bottle and get out," Vance snapped, waving his hand impatiently. "We're talking business."
"Of course, sir," Elena said with a polite curtsy. She pulled the service cart back, her finger catching the tiny USB drive and slipping it back into her cuff in a single, fluid motion.
She pushed through the service doors, stepping back into the kitchen corridor.
The moment the doors closed behind her, her strength gave out. She slumped against the tiled wall, taking deep, gasping breaths, clutching the tiny silver drive in her fist.
May you like
Frank stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, a rare look of genuine respect in his dark eyes.
"Nice work, kid," Frank grunted, taking the drive from her hand. "The boss is waiting for you downstairs."
