Chapter 3 - The Price of Protection
Sal swallowed hard, adjusting the collar of his coat. He knew who Victor Castellano was. Every criminal, cop, and politician in Illinois knew that crossing Victor meant disappearing into the dark depths of the Chicago River. But Sal had his own bosses to answer to.
"Don Castellano," Sal stammered, trying to maintain a tough stance. "We don't want no trouble with you. This woman... Iris Day... her dead husband took out forty-eight grand with our firm. She’s dodgin' us. We’re just collectin' what's legally ours."
Victor stopped at the iron gate, staring at Sal through the bars as if he were inspecting a bug on his shoe. "Legally yours? You enforce illegal gambling debts with violence, and you call it legal?"
"It's business, Don Castellano—"
"She works for me now," Victor interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, so cold it cut through the winter wind. "Which means her debts are my business. And touching her... is an act of war against the Castellano family."
Victor gestured smoothly to Marco. Marco stepped forward, opening a heavy leather briefcase filled with neatly stacked, banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He pulled out five stacks and threw them through the iron bars into the snow at Sal’s feet.
"There's fifty thousand dollars," Victor said softly. "Forty-eight for the debt. Two thousand for you to buy a ticket out of this city. If I ever see your face in North Chicago again, or if anyone from the Moretti family approaches Miss Day, I won't send money. I'll send twenty men with rifles to clear out your clubhouse. Do you understand me?"
Sal looked at the cash lying in the crimson snow, then looked into Victor’s jet-black eyes. He saw no mercy, no hesitation—only absolute, lethal authority. Sal quickly bent down, scooped up the money, and scrambled back into his sedan without saying another word. The car sped away, tires screeching against the slush.
Victor turned around slowly.
Iris was standing fifty feet away in the middle of the snow-covered lawn, holding Leo’s small hand. Her eyes were wide with shock, her face pale. She had just watched a billionaire mob boss pay off her life-destroying debt with a flick of his wrist.
Victor walked over to her. The snow crunched beneath his polished leather shoes. He stopped two feet away, looking down at her trembling frame.
"Mr. Castellano," Iris whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "I... I can't accept that. Fifty thousand dollars... I can never work enough hours to pay you back."
"I didn't pay it for you to owe me, Miss Day," Victor said quietly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense sincerity. "I paid it because no one puts their hands on a woman who protects my son. Your debt is cleared. You are safe here."
Iris looked up at him, tears finally spilling over her lashes, freezing on her cheeks. For two years—ever since Maya died and her husband fled—she had been hunted, threatened, and crushed under the weight of an impossible financial mountain. For the first time in two years, she felt the terrifying weight lift off her chest.
Beside her, little Leo looked up at his father, then at Iris. He released Iris’s fingers for a moment, reached down, and picked up a clean ball of snow. He walked over to Victor and gently placed the cold snowball into his father's large hand.
Victor stared down at the snowball in his palm, then looked at his son. Leo didn't smile, but his eyes were soft, devoid of the hollow terror that had consumed them for eight months.
Victor sank onto his knees in the snow, bringing himself down to his son's level, ignoring the cold soaking through his trousers. He wrapped his arms around Leo, pulling the small boy against his chest. Leo didn't pull away. He rested his head against Victor’s shoulder, his small hands clutching the back of Victor’s shirt.
May you like
Over his son's shoulder, Victor looked at Iris. The wall around his heart—built from years of violence, loss, and grief—cracked wide open.
"Thank you," Victor rasped, his voice thick with a father's raw, unadulterated gratitude. "Thank you, Iris."
