Chapter 7 - The South Side SanctuaryThe next evening, the rain had cleared, leaving the South Side of Chicago smelling of wet asphalt and early autumn. Tessa sat at the old wooden kitchen table in her small two-bedroom apartment, watching her brother Danny through the open doorway of his bedroom.
Danny was nineteen, with the same auburn hair as Tessa and a frame that was quickly filling out into manhood. He was hunched over a broken alternator from a neighbor’s truck, his grease-stained hands moving with a fluid, intuitive speed as he cleaned the delicate copper brushes inside.
A heavy knock sounded on the apartment door.
Tessa frowned, her hand instinctively tightening around her dish towel. Since the events at Bellamy’s the night before, she had been on edge, half-expecting some kind of retaliation from Brett or a corporate representative. She walked to the door and looked through the peephole.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway was a massive man in a dark canvas jacket, his face scarred and his hands tucked into his pockets. He didn't look like a threat; he looked like a wall.
Tessa opened the door, keeping the safety chain engaged. "Can I help you?"
The man looked up, his expression entirely polite. He lifted his hands and signed with a rough, functional efficiency: My name is Marcus. I am the head of transport for Marquetti Logistics. I am looking for Danny Whitlock.
Tessa’s breath hitched. She quickly unlatched the chain and swung the door wide. You're Marcus?
Yes, ma'am, Marcus signed, switching to an oral voice that was deep and gravelly, though he kept his hands moving for her convenience. "The boss told me I had an apprentice waiting for me down here. Said he was the best engine man in the zip code."
Danny appeared in the bedroom doorway, his eyes widening as he saw the large man signing in the entryway. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag, his chest expanding with a sudden, nervous energy.
You work on trucks? Danny signed toward Marcus, his movements hesitant but eager.
Marcus grinned, a jagged line of white teeth against his dark skin. I have forty-two diesel rigs in the yard right now, kid. Three of them have a transmission shudder that my certified mechanics can't find. The boss says you find things through the metal. You want a job or what?
Danny looked at Tessa, his eyes shining with a wild, disbelief-filled hope that she hadn't seen since the fever took his hearing ten years ago. Tessa? Is this real?
It’s real, Danny, Tessa signed, her throat tightening with emotion as she stepped back to let Marcus into the room. It’s completely real.
As Marcus walked Danny out to the street to show him the heavy-duty service truck parked at the curb, Tessa stood on the small front porch, watching her brother's shoulders straighten as he talked with the older mechanic. For the first time in a decade, the future didn't look like a mountain she had to carry on her back alone.
A sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb just behind Marcus’s truck. The rear window rolled down smoothly, revealing the sharp, aristocratic profile of Salvatore Marquetti. He didn't get out of the car. He simply looked up at the porch where Tessa stood, his dark eyes catching the amber glow of the streetlamp.
He lifted his hand to his forehead, flicked his fingers outward in a classic, casual gesture: Good evening, Tessa.
Tessa walked down the steps, her worn shoes clicking against the concrete, until she stood by the open window of the sedan. You didn't have to send him tonight, she signed. We could have come to the office.
Marcus doesn't like offices, Salvatore signed back, a faint amusement in his eyes. And I don't like waiting for good things to start. How is your brother?
He looks five years younger, Tessa signed, her gray eyes locked onto his. Thank you, Salvatore. I don't know how to repay this.
May you like
You don't repay a gift, Tessa, Salvatore signed, his hand lingering near the edge of the window frame, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief, electric second. You just accept it. Tomorrow is Thursday. I expect my sea bass to be hot, and my server to be ready.
I’ll decant the Barolo at seven, she signed with a soft smile.
