Chapter 7 - THE CORNER BOOTH
The corner booth in Section One was the most private table at Bellanote—a deep, horseshoe-shaped banquette lined with dark burgundy leather, tucked behind a heavy velvet curtain that separated it from the main dining floor.
Hannah sat on the plush leather seat, her silver serving tray set aside on a nearby service stand, her white waist apron untied and resting folded on her lap.
Across the dark mahogany table sat Roman Vale.
He had removed his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the leather seat, rolling his white silk shirt sleeves up to his forearms, revealing the dark, intricate line work of old tattoos covering his wrists. He looked less like the feared crime boss of Chicago and more like a man who had finally stepped out of a storm into a quiet room.
Martin Keller personally brought the tea service—a polished silver teapot, two porcelain cups, and a basket of warm, crusty artisan bread—setting everything down on the table with trembling, meticulous care before vanishing behind the velvet curtain.
Outside the booth, Greco and the five other lieutenants stood like sentinels in the main aisle, ensuring that no guest, server, or manager came within twenty feet of the curtain.
Roman poured two cups of steaming tea, pushing one gently across the polished wood toward Hannah.
"You look tired, Hannah," Roman said softly, observing her pale face and the faint dark circles beneath her eyes.
"I work two jobs, Mr. Vale," Hannah answered honestly, taking a small sip of the warm chamomile tea. "I work six hours at a bakery in West Loop every morning, and six hours here every night."
Roman frowned slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "Why?"
Hannah paused, her fingers wrapping around the warm porcelain cup. She looked into his pale gray eyes, seeing no corporate deceit, no hidden trap—only a man asking a genuine question in a world full of lies.
"My brother, Leo," Hannah explained quietly, her voice thick with protective devotion. "He's seventeen. He was diagnosed with a rare form of bone sarcoma ten months ago. He's in an experimental trial at Northwestern. The insurance doesn't cover eighty percent of the trial costs. So I work."
Roman listened in complete silence.
He knew what it meant to fight for family. He had spent his entire youth fighting to keep his mother alive in a cold city with no money, no connections, and no help. He knew the bone-deep, soul-crushing exhaustion of a person who carries the weight of a loved one's life on their shoulders.
"How much do you need for the trial, Hannah?" Roman asked flatly.
Hannah blinked, startled by the directness of the question. She shook her head softly. "I didn't tell you that so you would offer me money, Mr. Vale. I don't take charity."
May you like
Roman offered a tiny, sad smile—the first genuine smile Hannah had seen on his face all night.
"It isn't charity, Hannah," Roman said, his raspy voice carrying an unyielding, absolute weight. "In the old mountains... in Vrbica... if someone speaks your mother's tongue to you when you are lost, they are family. And family doesn't let family carry a burden alone."
