“Now, wait, wait—” The man who was presumably Melvin held up his hands, his face draining from florid red to sickly white. “Now, boss, you know, it ain’t what it looks—”
The gunshot was flat and sharp in the room, effectively silencing Melvin’s pleadings and leaving a red hole in his forehead. The only noise left after that was the fast, rasping breathing of Leon, whose eyes became even more protuberant as he gaped at Capone. His breathing was so unsteady his shoulders actually shook.
Al slipped the revolver back into his pocket. “Have I made myself clear?” He fixed his beady black gaze on Leon, still ignoring Macey.
“P-perfectly.”
“Now get the hell out of here and spread the word to da other boys. You sit at my table, you take my hospitality, and then you spit on me…I ain’t giving no second chances. To no one. And you, Leon—you stay the fuck away from any counterfeiters. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sniffing around in that business. I ain’t having nothing done with them.”
Leon gathered his dignity and rose from the chair. When he passed by Macey, she saw the fine sprinkling of blood on his pale face and smelled the faint aroma of urine.
As the door closed behind him, she rose from her seat and looked at Capone. She made no attempt to hide her disgust, but she did manage to keep her trembling fingers hidden. The man was as violent and brutal as Nicholas Iscariot, and he’d made it clear no one was safe from his wrath—including the people she loved and cared about. And yet she had no reason to fear him. “Was that display supposed to frighten me?”
“Frighten you? Oh, no, not at all,” said Al. “That was to remind Leon which side his bread is buttered on. So to speak.” He looked at the bloody mess of the table and grimaced, gesturing to the spattered decanter. “A waste of good vino, but the message had to be delivered.”
Macey stared at him, revulsion and fury churning inside her. She still could not believe this man was a Venator. He wore the blessed amulet—the vis bulla—that came along with the holy vocation of their family, and he was endowed with the same strength and speed and abilities as she was…
And he used those abilities to wantonly kill people—to destroy the mortals the Gardellas were meant to protect, the very lives they were meant to save.
She might have questioned whether he wore a true vis bulla if she hadn’t remembered seeing the name Alphonsus in the Gardella Family Bible, where all the Venators—both born and made—were listed. She had also seen evidence of his superior strength and, despite his bulk, unusual speed.
“You abuse your powers as a Venator,” she spat. “You’ve used your abilities to build an enterprise of illegal businesses—some of the worst types of businesses, ones that prey on the weakest types of people—and you’ve created it through violence and murder. All for greed. How do you dare wear the vis bulla?”
He swung toward her, but his expression wasn’t enraged, as she might have expected. Instead, he seemed to accept her fury. “No matter what you think, there, doll, I am still a Venator,” he said. “I am still bound to fight the undead.”
“And to protect the mortals on this earth. And yet you gun them down, slit their throats, shoot them as they enjoy your hospitality—all on a whim. All because of mere insults—perceived or otherwise. You are no true Venator,” she sneered.
“Do you mean to say as a Venator, you have no right to protect yourself from other mortals—only from the undead? Would you have me believe that is true of you, Macey Gardella? You’re a smart broad, doll, so don’t let me hear you say otherwise.”
“You call this protecting yourself?” Her hand jerked violently toward the dining table bloodbath. “Not one of those men lifted a hand to you.”
“You know nothing,” roared Capone. “You don’t know my bizness, and you don’t know what those men would have done to me if I hadn’t stopped them. Do you know how many sniper shots have been taken at me? How many bullets I’ve dodged? Do you know how many of your precious mortals have been caught in the crossfire because someone wanted to kill me? I have to protect myself.”
“And why is that?” she retorted. “Because of your greed, your desire for power. Because you break the law, because you take advantage of women and sell them as prostitutes, you open gambling houses so the weak-minded will lose their money over and over while drinking your illegal beer—and you encourage half of Chicago to break the law and drink themselves into the gutter.”
“Listen to me, Macey Gardella,” he snarled, leaning close enough that she could smell the garlic rolling off his breath. “I provide a service to dose people. Prohibition ain’t keeping no one from imbibing but those damned Temperance people—hell, you know everyone in Congress has their own suppliers on hand. Even the Prohibition agents like their beer and whiskey. But everyone knows, dey walk into one of my places, dey ain’t gonna get no damn wood alcohol. They ain’t gonna die because they want a drink and someone serves ’em up any damned ethanol. My beer, my liquor—it’s a service and it saves lives because people trust my products. It’s about regulation, Macey. Someone’s gotta manage the illegal trade, or more people will die.”
Macey could only shake her head. “That’s a poor excuse. You’re still breaking the law. You’re still thumbing your nose at the authorities—”
“Thumbing my nose? What the hell are you talking about—the damned police chief calls me. I ain’t callin’ him. He’s the one sucking my cock, coming to me, wantin’ my help because he knows without me and my network, my boys—well, Chicago would be a lot more dangerous place. And I ain’t just talking about the undead.”
“You sure aren’t. Do you even remember you’re supposed to be hunting the undead? When do you have time to slay vampires when you’re running your business empire?” she sneered. The fact that she shared a family legacy—a vocation to fight the malevolent, demonic undead—with the most greedy and powerful crime boss in Chicago, no matter how he protested otherwise, made her ill. Worse, it made her question the very world into which she’d been drawn by Sebastian Vioget and Chas Woodmore less than a year ago. “When’s the last time you bothered to actually kill a vampire? To actually fulfill your family legacy?”
“You’re funny, Macey Gardella. You’re a funny, loudmouthed, sassy broad, and I like dat in a woman—don’t tell my Mae. But I don’t like women who pretend to be dumb when they ain’t. The first time we met, at Da Palmer—you know damned well I was wearin’ undead ash on my suit. Don’t pretend you didn’t smell it, and see my stake. Had I known then who you were, you’d’a never left that back room without me.”
“So you actually bestirred yourself to stake a vampire a few weeks ago. Why—was he planning to open a competitive dance club? Had he succeeded in booking Satchmo for an appearance before you did?”
Capone laughed heartily, his fury suddenly gone. “Dammit, doll, we’re gonna have fun together, you and me.” He pulled out a handkerchief to mop his damp face.
“That is about as unlikely as Nicholas Iscariot walking into a church.”
He was still laughing, but then he sobered and tucked the hanky back into his coat. “You ain’t got no right to hold judgment on me, baby doll. That’s for the Good Lord to do—and He seen fit to give me a vis bulla, and there ain’t no one else on dis earth who’s got the right to say I ain’t doing my duty. Do you know how much money I give to the poor? Do you have any idea how many meals, how many coats and shoes and homes I’ve given to those in need? And you ain’t got no idea how many lives I’ve saved doin’ what I do, stoppin’ violence from happenin’. You ain’t got no right to judge whether I’m worthy to wear the amulet or not. That ain’t your place, and you’d best remember it.”
“I won’t kill for you,” she said coldly. “I won’t murder people. Anyone. I don’t care how you threaten me.”
“We’ll see about that. But for now, you just wait till I need you. You live in all this luxury, and you wear fine clothes and you eat my food, and you listen to some good jazz music—that’s a good idea, that, getting Satchmo back up here from N’Orleans—and you wait till I say. Because our fates are intertwined, doll, and there ain’t no way around that.”
It was all she could do to keep her face blank and her eyes from welling with furious, frustrated tears. She was trapped here with Capone—trapped in his world.
I was meant to fight against evil. And now I must fight to protect it.
THREE
~ The Lonely Life of a Venator ~
Al Capone controlled his empire—and pretty much the entire city of Chicago when he was in residence—from Suite 430 at the Lexington Hotel.
The first time Macey had occasion to visit Capone’s luxurious space, she’d barely noted its splendor and amenities. She’d been exhausted, wounded, and heartsick when she arrived and found Sebastian Vioget beaten, bound, and ready to sizzle in the sun on the penthouse patio. The only thing on her mind then was getting them both out of Capone’s clutches safely.