Chapter 3 - The Threat on the Lease
The interior of Sweet Halloway felt different now that she knew the truth. The unmatched chairs and the leaning marble wall were no longer just signs of a struggling small business; they were the battleground for a territorial war between two of the most dangerous entities in Chicago.
Juny stood behind the counter, her hands gripping the wood until her knuckles turned white. Damian sat at the small corner table, his long legs cramped beneath the short wooden frame. He was drinking a cup of her black coffee, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.
"Let me get this straight," Juny said, her voice shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "The only reason my landlord is trying to destroy my life is because you stopped to talk to me on Tuesday?"
"Essentially, yes," Damian said, taking a quiet sip of his coffee. "The Marcone family has been looking for a vulnerability in my southern perimeter for months. I don't have a wife, Miss Alvarez. I don't have children. I don't have an estate that isn't guarded by twenty red laser grids. But when I spent twelve minutes standing on a public sidewalk talking to a woman with flour in her hair, their scouts noticed."
"Twelve minutes!" Juny cried, throwing her hands in the air. "I drenched you with ice water! That wasn't a romantic tryst, it was a municipal hazard!"
"To a criminal syndicate, any connection is a lever," Damian explained. He set his cup down with a soft clink. "They assume that because I returned to your shop, you are a person of value to me. Therefore, if they ruin you, they believe I will react recklessly. They are waiting for me to send my men into Vanguard’s corporate office with automatic weapons. If I do that, the city council will revoke my freight permits, and Marcone wins the shipping lanes."
"So I'm just a lever," Juny said, her voice turning cold. She stepped out from behind the counter, looking down at him with a sudden, sharp distance. "A piece of wood they can splinter to see if you flinch."
"You are not a piece of wood to me," Damian said, standing up. He loomed over her, his presence instantly filling the small room. "If you were just a lever, I would have had my men move you to a safe house in Indiana three hours ago and let Vanguard burn this building to the ground. But I am still sitting in your shop, drinking your exceptionally bitter coffee, because I intend to keep this bakery exactly where it is."
"I don't believe you," Juny said, stepping back until her hips hit the display case. "You're a mafia boss, Mr. Vale. You don't care about rosemary shortbread or old pastry recipes. You care about your perimeter. You're using my shop as bait to catch your rivals."
Damian didn't deny it. He simply looked at her, his expression unreadable. "The world I inhabit does not allow for pure altruism, Juny. But you are wrong about one thing. I do care about the shortbread. And I care about the fact that you built this place without asking your family for a single dollar. I respect people who do not apologize for the space they occupy."
The front window suddenly rattled violently as a heavy brick smashed through the glass, showering the linoleum floor with jagged shards of crystal.
A small paper note was wrapped around the brick with a thick rubber band.
Damian didn't flinch. He immediately stepped in front of Juny, his large body covering hers completely as his guards outside erupted into a frenzy of shouted orders and running boots.
"Stay down," Damian commanded, his voice changing from the polite stranger to a commander of a war zone. He reached beneath his cashmere sweater and pulled out a heavy, matte-black pistol, his eyes tracking the dark street outside through the broken window pane.
Marcus, the lead guard from the SUV, poked his head through the shattered frame, his weapon drawn. "Two shooters on a motorcycle, boss. They headed north toward the highway. Lev is tracking them now."
"Don't follow them," Damian ordered, his voice flat and deadly. "It’s a distraction. They want the perimeter thin."
He holstered his weapon and turned around, kneeling down to look at the note wrapped around the brick. He cut the rubber band with a pocket knife and flattened the paper against the floor.
Juny leaned over his shoulder, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The text on the note was typed in clean, corporate block letters:
NOTICE OF IMMEDIATE LEASE FORFEITURE Pursuant to Section 14B of the commercial lease agreement, Sweet Halloway is hereby evicted due to structural endangerment and neighborhood public hazard. You have twenty-six days to vacate the premises. The property will be reclaimed by Vanguard Holdings on the first of the month.
"Twenty-six days," Juny whispered, her eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall. "They didn't even wait for the health department. They just used the broken window as an excuse for public hazard."
She looked at Damian, her anger returning with twice the force. "You did this. Your presence did this. If you had just moved your stupid car on Tuesday morning, my windows would still be whole!"
"You are correct," Damian said, standing up and smoothing down his sweater. He didn't look angry; he looked entirely focused, like a chess player who had just seen his opponent's final strategy. "I caused this damage. And therefore, I will be the one who repairs it. Marcus!"
"Yes, boss?"
"Call the glass contractor. Tell him I want reinforced ballistic plexiglass installed on this storefront before sunrise," Damian ordered. "And call our legal counsel. Tell them to buy Vanguard Holdings."
May you like
Juny blinked. "What?"
"If your landlord is the problem, Juny," Damian said, looking down at her with a dark, dangerous smile, "the simplest solution is to buy the landlord."
