Chapter 4 - The Audit of Power
Thirty minutes later, the interior of Lombardi’s looked like a crime scene out of a cheap paperback detective novel. Yellow police tape crisscrossed the entrance, flashlights swept beams of harsh white light across the blood-stained floor, and uniformed officers moved between the tables taking statements.
Yet, remarkably, the investigation carried a strange, muted quality.
When the precinct captain arrived, he hadn't rushed over to cuff Dominic Russo or demand explanations at gunpoint. Instead, the captain had walked directly to the corner booth, exchanged a brief, low-voiced murmuring with the crime boss, and then walked away, leaving Dominic entirely unmolested.
Sadie was sitting on an upturned milk crate near the kitchen door, wrapped in a foil emergency blanket an EMT had handed her. Her hands were shaking around a paper cup of lukewarm black coffee Hector had forced her to drink.
"You're shaking like a leaf, kid," Hector muttered, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "You sure you're not hit?"
"I'm not hit, Hector," Sadie whispered, staring blankly at her boots. "I just... I think I almost died."
"Nah," Hector grunted darkly, casting a sideways glance toward the front of the restaurant where Dominic Russo was standing with two detectives. "That giant looked like he was built to tear a bank vault apart with his bare teeth. Whatever you did, you scrambled his brains before he could reach the boss. In this city, that makes you either a hero or a very complicated liability."
Before Sadie could process the warning, a shadow fell across her.
She looked up. Dominic Russo was standing over her. His bodyguards were outside dealing with the paramedics and the police, leaving the crime boss entirely alone as he approached her makeshift seat.
"Stand up, Sadie," Dominic said. It wasn't a request, but it wasn't harsh either.
Sadie slowly pushed herself up from the milk crate, clutching the foil blanket around her shoulders. Up close, without the barrier of a table between them, Dominic’s presence was suffocating. He radiated an intense, focused gravity that made it difficult to draw a full breath.
"Mr. Russo," she murmured, her voice tight. "I didn't mean to interfere. I know you guys have... whatever business you have. I was just working."
Dominic crossed his arms, studying her with those dark, unreadable eyes. "Tell me about your rent, Sadie."
She blinked, caught completely off-guard. "My... what?"
"Your rent," Dominic repeated evenly. "Carl talks to the other managers when he’s drinking at the union hall on Thursdays. He mentioned that one of his servers is four days past due on a third-floor walk-up on Ninth Street. Landlord’s name is Marcone. A miserable bastard who turns the heat off early to save on oil."
Sadie felt a hot flush of humiliation rise up her neck. Her private misery, her tiny, desperate financial calculations, laid bare before a man who controlled half the commercial real estate in the tri-state area.
"That's none of your business," she said, her voice hardening with a sudden flash of defensive pride.
Dominic didn't look offended. In fact, the ghost of a thin, humorless smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Pride. That’s dangerous when you’re broke, Sadie, but it’s an admirable trait when you’re standing in front of a man who just tried to put a bullet through my spine."
He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a heavy leather cardholder, and drew out a thick, cream-colored business card embossed with subtle black lettering. He didn't hand it to her directly; instead, he placed it on the top of the stainless-steel prep table beside her.
"Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock," Dominic said quietly, "you are not going to work at Lombardi’s. You are going to take that card, walk three blocks down to the commercial office building on Walnut Street, and ask for Mr. Vance on the fourth floor."
Sadie stared at the card. "What's on the fourth floor?"
"A desk," Dominic said simply. "A desk with a computer, a medical insurance plan that covers burns, and a salary that makes worrying about Marcone’s rent obsolete."
Sadie shook her head slowly, backing away a half-step. "I don't take charity. And I certainly don't work for... whatever it is you do."
Dominic stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers with absolute, unyielding force. "It’s not charity, Sadie. It’s an investment. The man who came through those doors tonight wasn't sent by a rival crew in South Philly. He was a professional. A cleaner. And the person who hired him knew every single detail about my evening schedule, my security rotation, and my exact seating preference."
May you like
Sadie’s breath caught. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Dominic whispered, his voice dropping to a low, chilling register, "that the leak didn't come from the street. It came from inside my own house."
