Chapter 7 - The Woman Who Changed the Math
Six months later, the Iron Skillet reopened.
It looked almost exactly the same.
Sal had refused Dante’s offer to turn it into an expensive restaurant.
“I sell pancakes,” Sal had said. “People eating pancakes don’t need chandeliers.”
So Dante rebuilt it the way Sal wanted.
Red booths.
Checkerboard floor.
Chrome counter.
A new jukebox.
And a very expensive electrical system.
Cass stood behind the counter on reopening night.
Sal approached.
“You’re late.”
“I own half the place now.”
“You still work for me.”
“That’s not how ownership works.”
“It does in my diner.”
Cass smiled.
The bell above the entrance chimed.
She did not need to look.
“Table four, Dante?”
“Counter tonight.”
Dante removed his coat.
The sleeves of his dark shirt shifted slightly, revealing the black tattoos running along his forearms before he rolled them back into place.
He sat three seats from the register.
His back still faced the wall.
His eyes still checked the door.
Some habits survived everything.
Cass reached for the coffee.
“The strong stuff?”
“Always.”
She poured.
Dante looked around the crowded diner.
After the evidence from Daniel’s files became public, Victor Krell’s organization collapsed.
Detective Hayes testified.
Anthony accepted a plea agreement.
Several corrupt officers were arrested.
Daniel Miller’s name was officially cleared.
Cass’s mother finally learned the truth about her son.
Dante looked at Cass.
“You happy?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Sal still makes me work Saturdays.”
From the kitchen, Sal shouted, “I heard that!”
Dante smiled.
Cass placed his coffee down.
He didn’t drink it.
Instead, he placed an envelope on the counter.
“What’s that?”
“Open it.”
Cass did.
Inside were legal documents.
She read the first page.
Then stared at him.
“Dante.”
“You wanted to know what happened to the old Moretti properties.”
“You sold them?”
“Most.”
“And this?”
“A legitimate security company.”
Cass looked through the documents.
Her name appeared beside his.
“Why am I listed?”
“Because I need a partner.”
Cass laughed.
“You have hundreds of people working for you.”
“I don’t trust hundreds of people.”
“You trust me?”
“You saved my life.”
“That doesn’t make me qualified.”
“You identified thirty armed men by their footsteps.”
“Twenty-nine.”
Dante raised an eyebrow.
“One was wearing sneakers.”
He smiled.
Cass looked at the papers again.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“What exactly would I do?”
“Keep me from making stupid decisions.”
“That sounds full-time.”
“It probably is.”
Cass leaned across the counter.
“And what happens when somebody comes after you again?”
Dante picked up his coffee.
“I stay away from diners.”
“Good answer.”
He took a drink.
Cass watched him.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Dante put the mug down.
“Yes.”
“What?”
For once, Chicago’s most feared man seemed uncertain.
“Dinner.”
Cass stared at him.
“You’re already in a diner.”
“With me.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Cassidy.”
He sighed.
“I’m asking you on a date.”
She smiled slowly.
“Oh.”
Dante Moretti looked almost offended.
“That’s your answer?”
“I’m enjoying this.”
“You enjoy watching me suffer?”
“A little.”
“Cass.”
She leaned closer.
“Yes.”
“Yes, you enjoy it?”
“Yes, I’ll have dinner with you.”
Dante relaxed.
“Tomorrow?”
“Seven.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No.”
His eyebrow rose.
“I’ll meet you.”
“Why?”
Cass pointed toward the window.
A black luxury sedan waited outside with two security vehicles behind it.
“Because arriving with twelve armed men might make the restaurant nervous.”
Dante looked outside.
“Fair.”
Sal appeared carrying a plate.
“Celebration pie.”
Cass looked at him.
“For what?”
Sal nodded toward Dante.
“He finally asked you out.”
Dante stared at him.
“You knew?”
“Kid, everybody knew.”
Cass laughed.
Dante shook his head.
Sal placed the pie between them.
Then he looked toward the new breaker box.
“By the way, Cass?”
“Yes?”
“If thirty armed men ever come through that door again—”
Cass waited.
Sal pointed toward the electrical panel.
“Use the switch.”
Cass grinned.
Dante laughed.
Outside, rain began falling over Chicago again.
Inside, coffee steamed beneath warm lights.
Six months earlier, thirty men had walked into that diner believing numbers decided everything.
They had been wrong.
Because sometimes thirty guns were not enough.
Sometimes the most dangerous person in the room wasn’t the mafia boss surrounded by enemies.
May you like
Sometimes it was the tired waitress behind the counter who knew where the lights were.
And Dante Moretti never forgot the woman who changed the math.
