Chapter 7 - The Midnight Feast

By 1:45 AM, the main dining room of The Aurelian had been returned to an illusion of pristine elegance.

The shattered crystal and spilled lemonade had been cleared away. The white linen tablecloths were immaculate, the silver cutlery gleamed beneath the grand chandeliers, and the fireplace crackled with fragrant cedar logs.

Outside, the rain beat a steady, hypnotic rhythm against the tall arched windows.

The heavy double oak doors of the restaurant swung open.

Dominic Rossi strode into the room, flanked by four hulking bodyguards in dark cashmere overcoats. Rossi was fifty years old, with slicked-back silver hair, a cruel, aristocratic mouth, and the swagger of an apex predator stepping into newly conquered territory.

"A magnificent room," Rossi remarked, his voice echoing off the mirrored walls as he walked toward the raised platform. "It’s a pity Enzo couldn't enjoy his final meal here."

Sitting at the far end of the banquet table was Marcus Bell, his face pale, his hands trembling as he gripped a pen over a thick stack of legal documents.

"Is everything prepared, Marcus?" Rossi asked, pulling out the grand leather armchair at the head of the table—the exact seat where Lily had collapsed hours earlier.

"Yes," Marcus whispered, not daring to lift his eyes. "The transfer deeds for the shipping terminals are ready for your countersignature."

Rossi smiled, a wide, predatory stretch of his lips. He sat down, leaning back into the leather, resting his elbows on the polished wood.

"To a new era in Chicago," Rossi declared, gesturing toward the kitchen archway. "Where is the champagne? Even a funeral deserves a toast."

The kitchen doors swung open with a soft swish.

Walking out from the service corridor, carrying a silver tray with a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon and two crystal flutes, was Nora Hayes.

She wore a fresh uniform, her hair tied neatly back, her posture composed and invisible. She walked up to the head of the table, set the tray down, and carefully placed a crystal glass before Dominic Rossi.

Inside the glass was a single, brightly colored pink-and-white striped straw.

Rossi frowned, looking down at the straw with mild amusement. "What is this? A joke?"

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