577 "My mother worked seventy-seven days without being paid while her boss flaunted a new Porsche and begged her to wait “one more week.” So I slipped away at lunch, walked past seven armed men, and asked the most dangerous man in Chicago why nobody had made David Sterling pay her.

David’s hands shook so violently he dropped his leather checkbook twice before he managed to drag it across the bar counter.

The pen stuttered against the paper as he scribbled the figures. Every wealthy patron in the restaurant watched in morbid fascination as the owner of Sterling’s Bistro—a man who usually treated service workers like furniture—was reduced to a sweating wreck by a six-year-old’s grocery list and a crime lord’s quiet stare.

"Five... five thousand four hundred thirty dollars and thirty cents," David whimpered, tearing the leaf from the book and holding it out with trembling fingers. "Plus... plus an extra thousand for... for the trouble."

Vincent didn't take the check. He looked down at Rory.

"Is this right, Rory?"

Rory stepped closer, inspecting the numbers with the intense scrutiny of a chief financial officer. She pointed a small finger at the decimal point. "Mom wrote thirty cents for the bus fare she had to borrow when her car broke down. You wrote it right."

Vincent finally took the slip of paper. He folded it twice and slipped it into his breast pocket.

Then he looked back at David.

"The restaurant is closed for the rest of the day," Vincent said mildly.

David blinked, horrified. "Closed? But lunch service—it’s only twelve-thirty! We have reservations for forty people from the chamber of commerce!"

"Tell them there's a plumbing issue," Vincent said, turning on his heel. "And David?"

"Y-Yes?"

"If I ever hear that Sarah Carter works another minute without her wages deposited into her account by Friday noon, I won't just take your Porsche. I'll take the building, the parking lot, and the clothes off your back. Do we understand each other?"

"Crystal clear," David whispered, slumped against the brass rail.

Vincent walked back toward Table 4, with Rory trotting happily beside him. Waiting at the table was a silver tray holding a steaming mug of dark, rich hot chocolate topped with three massive, handmade marshmallows that looked like fluffy white clouds.