Chapter 5 - The Ledger of Marcus Vance
The back room of a private social club in the Loop smelled of aged leather, burning cigars, and expensive bourbon.
Marcus Vance sat behind a mahogany poker table, swirling amber liquid in a crystal tumbler, his face dark with suppressed fury. Across from him stood his primary enforcer, holding a swollen, ice-packed jaw.
"You let a bunch of suits walk into our primary neighborhood clinic and take the girl?" Marcus snarled, slamming his glass down so hard the amber liquid splashed over the rim.
"Boss, it wasn't just suits," the enforcer stammered, wincing in pain. "It was Moretti's people. Damen Moretti himself was there."
Marcus froze. The color drained slightly from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating anxiety.
Damen Moretti. The ghost of the West Side. A man who controlled the shipping lanes, the political endorsements, and half the judges in Cook County without ever raising his voice in public.
"Moretti has no business with a community clinic nurse," Marcus muttered, rubbing his chin. "Unless... unless she told him about the debt."
"She didn't have time to say anything," the enforcer replied. "Moretti took her with him. They're heading toward his estate on the North Shore."
Marcus stood up slowly, pacing across the plush Persian rug. For three years, he had used Hannah Brooks's late brother's gambling debts as an anchor to keep her trapped, forcing her to siphon medical supplies and provide off-the-record treatments for injured syndicate members. She was his cleanest pipeline for illegal pharmaceuticals and untraceable medical care.
If Damen Moretti had stepped into the middle of his operation, it wasn't just a rescue mission. It was a declaration of war.
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"Get the cars ready," Marcus ordered, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "If Moretti wants to play white knight for a charity nurse, we're going to teach him how much it costs to buy stolen goods."
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