Chapter 3 - Through the Shattered Glass
The line went dead with a dry click.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the heavy ceramic coffee pot from the table and brought it down squarely on Dante’s temple.
He slumped sideways against the booth before he could draw the snub-nosed revolver from his shoulder holster, his eyes rolling back as he slid onto the checkerboard linoleum. I didn't care if he was dead or unconscious; I stripped the holster from his chest, checked the cylinder—fully loaded—and tucked it into the waistband of my trousers.
At the front of the diner, the glass gave way with a roar of falling shards.
Two men in dark windbreakers and ski masks stepped over the threshold, their boots crunching on the sugar packets and broken glass scattered across the floor. They weren't ordinary street thugs; they carried themselves with the rigid, mechanical efficiency of corporate enforcers—men trained to make problems vanish without a trace on a balance sheet.
"Boss says wrap it up," the taller one muttered, his eyes scanning the empty booths until they landed on me standing near the aisle. He paused, his hand dropping toward his waist. "Wait. Where's Dante?"
I didn't answer with words. I raised the heavy ceramic base of a sugar dispenser that I'd scooped up from the counter and hurled it straight into his face. As he staggered back, clutching a bleeding nose, I drew Dante's revolver and fired low into the linoleum between them. The deafening crack of the gunshot echoed off the tiled walls, rattling the remaining coffee mugs on their racks.
"Drop your weapons!" I roared, the blood rushing in my ears like a tidal wave. "Drop them or I swear to God I will put the next one through your kneecaps!"
The second man hesitated, his hand hovering over his holster, weighing the risk. In the dim amber glow of the neon sign, he recognized my face—the older Moretti brother, the one who still held nominal controlling shares in the shipping empire.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his empty hands. "Mr. Moretti. This is a misunderstanding. Dante gave orders—"
"Dante is currently sleeping it off under booth four," I cut him off, stepping forward, the cold steel of the gun steady in my grip. "You want to join him, or do you want to walk out that broken door right now and never look at my family again?"
The enforcer’s eyes flicked toward the back hallway, then back to me. He gave a sharp, imperceptible nod to his partner. "The girl's already out back," he said smoothly, testing me. "You won't make it to the storage hall before our backup clears the perimeter."
"Try me."
May you like
I didn't wait for them to test my resolve. I lunged forward, using the butt of the revolver to crack the second man across the jaw, sending him crashing into the cigarette machine. The other man turned to run, diving out through the shattered front door into the pouring rain.
I didn't chase him. Every second I wasted on them was a second Sofia was lying alone in the dark.
