Chapter 3 - Breadcrumbs and Broken Bridges
In the darkness, the Alexandria Room became a cavern of echoes and terror.
"Get down!" Nora screamed, grabbing Leo and pulling him under the heavy oak table.
"Tony, suppressive fire!" Dominic ordered, his voice remarkably calm. He didn't need legs to guide his hands; he gripped the wheels of his chair, spinning backward behind the thick marble pillar of the head table.
Gunshots shattered the dark. The muzzle flashes illuminated the room in brief, strobe-like bursts—Jimmy’s men firing blindly, Tony firing back with disciplined, rhythmic cracks.
Dominic reached into his jacket. He didn't usually carry a weapon anymore—he was the boss, his men were his weapons—but tonight, he had kept a snub-nosed .38 revolver in his waistband. He pulled it out, feeling the heavy, cold steel. He couldn't feel his legs, but he could feel the vibrations of the gunshots through the floorboards, traveling up his spine.
"Over there! By the table!" one of Jimmy’s men shouted.
Dominic aimed toward the sound of the voice. He fired twice. A heavy thud followed, accompanied by a wet groan. One down.
"Jimmy! We gotta go! Tony's got the exit blocked!" the other gunman yelled.
"Kill the wheelchair! Just kill the wheelchair!" Jimmy screamed, his voice nasal and distorted from his broken nose.
A hail of bullets tore through the front of the head table, splintering the oak and shattering the crystal glasses. Dominic pressed himself flat against his backrest, keeping his head down as wood chips rained over his shoulders.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm. He almost spun and fired, but the smell of vanilla and cheap detergent stopped him.
"We need to get out of here," Nora whispered, her voice shaking but resolute. She was crouching beside his wheel, holding Leo tightly against her side. "The service kitchen has a ramp for the food carts. I saw it when I brought the cake in."
"Tony!" Dominic called out. "Cover the kitchen doors!"
"Go, Boss! I'm right behind you!" Tony shouted back, firing another three rounds to keep Jimmy pinned behind a row of overturned tables.
Nora didn't wait for Dominic’s permission. She grabbed the push handles of his heavy wheelchair. "Hold onto your kid," she muttered.
"He's not my kid," Dominic said, but he instinctively grabbed Leo’s hand, pulling the boy onto his lap and wrapping his strong arms around him. "Hold tight, Leo. We’re going for a ride."
With a grunt of effort, Nora pushed the heavy chair toward the double swinging doors of the kitchen. She wasn't built for heavy lifting, but adrenaline is a powerful fuel. They burst through the doors into the bright, fluorescent-lit stainless-steel kitchen.
Behind them, the ballroom doors rattled as Jimmy’s remaining man tried to force his way through.
"Lock it!" Dominic said.
Nora grabbed a massive mop handle leaning against a prep table and wedged it through the heavy metal door handles. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it would buy them thirty seconds.
They sped down the tiled hallway, the wheels of Dominic’s chair squeaking loudly. Leo kept his face buried in Dominic’s expensive silk tie, his little hands gripping Dominic’s lapels. Dominic felt a strange, tightening sensation in his chest—not of fear, but of an intense, protective responsibility. This boy and his mother were in this mess because of him.
At the end of the hall was the loading dock. A massive metal ramp led down to a dark alleyway where Nora’s beat-up, rusted blue station wagon was parked.
"That's my car," Nora gasped, panting heavily as she pushed the chair down the steep ramp.
Tony burst through the kitchen doors behind them, his face pale and his jacket torn. "They're coming! Jimmy's got more guys outside!"
"Get in the car," Dominic ordered Nora. He looked at Tony. "Give me your keys. Where's the Mercedes?"
"Carmine’s guys slashed the tires in the VIP lot, Boss," Tony said, breathless. "We're stuck."
Dominic looked at Nora’s rusted station wagon. It looked like it was held together by duct tape and prayers, but the engine was running, coughing out a steady stream of grey exhaust.
"We're taking your car," Dominic told her.
"Like hell we are!" Nora protested. "It barely fits my groceries!"
"Nora," Dominic said, using her name for the first time. He looked her dead in the eye, his gaze steady and commanding. "If you want to live to pay your landlord tomorrow, you will let my guard drive this car. Now get in."
She looked at the metal doors of the loading dock, which were already beginning to rattle under heavy blows. She swallowed hard, nodded, and opened the passenger door.
Tony lifted Dominic out of his wheelchair with practiced, respectful strength, sliding him into the back seat of the station wagon. He quickly folded the wheelchair and shoved it into the trunk, slamming it shut just as the loading dock doors splintered open.
Jimmy Varga stumbled out onto the ramp, a bloody towel pressed to his face, his gun raised.
"Drive!" Dominic roared.
May you like
Tony threw the station wagon into reverse, the tires screeching on the wet asphalt. He slammed into a row of metal trash cans, sending them flying, then shifted into drive and floored the accelerator. The car fishtailed wildly out of the alley just as three bullets shattered the rear window, showering the back seat with safety glass.
Nora screamed, covering Leo. Dominic threw his body over both of them, shielding them with his chest as the station wagon roared into the rainy Harbor City night.
