Chapter 6 Matteo #3
"Contact! Rear hallway!" someone screams.
The remaining four men open fire simultaneously.
The silence of the dining room shatters into a deafening roar of automatic gunfire.
Bullets tear through the air, shredding the wooden doorframe next to my head.
Splinters explode outward. I drop low, sliding behind a massive, reinforced marble pillar.
The marble chips and sparks as rounds impact the other side. The air fills with the choking scent of cordite and pulverized stone.
"Flank him! Move!" the leader barks.
I check my magazine. Thirteen rounds left. I wait for the pause. The split-second lull when a rifle goes dry and a magazine drops.
Clack. Tap.
I swing out from behind the pillar. I stay low, tracking the movement in the shadows. A man rushes down the center aisle, trying to close the distance. I fire three rapid shots. Knee. Chest. Throat. He crumples over a leather booth, his momentum carrying him forward into a tangle of dead limbs.
Three left.
They realize they are losing. They realize they walked into a slaughterhouse. They start falling back toward the alley entrance.
"Retreat! Fall back to the vehicles!"
I am not letting them leave. I am not letting them report back to the Bellanti underboss. I push forward, leaving the cover of the pillar. I move with a brutal, relentless aggression. I am a machine fueled by the need to protect the woman locked in my vault.
I cross the dining room, firing as I walk. I catch the fourth man in the shoulder as he tries to dive through the shattered kitchen window. He screams, tumbling backward. I walk up to him and put a single round in his head.
Two left.
They scramble through the back door, spilling out into the dark alley. I follow them. The cool Chicago night air hits my face. The sirens in the distance are growing louder. The police are coming. My security team is pulling into the far end of the block. Time is up.
The remaining two men reach the black SUVs. One throws open the driver-side door. I raise my weapon. I exhale. I pull the trigger.
The bullet shatters the driver's side window, taking the man down before he can turn the key.
The final man freezes. He drops his rifle. He raises his hands in the air, his chest heaving with terror. He looks at the massive, bloody monster walking toward him in the dark alley. He looks at the dead body of his crewmate lying on the pavement.
"Wait," he begs, his voice cracking. "Wait. We were just following orders. Please."
I walk up to him. I press the hot barrel of the Glock directly against his forehead. The metal burns his skin. He whimpers.
"Tell Bellanti the shipping logs belong to me," I say, my voice devoid of any human emotion. "Tell him the girl belongs to me. Tell him if he sends another squad to my territory, I will come to his house and butcher his entire bloodline."
The man nods frantically. Tears spill over his mask.
"Now run."
I lower the weapon. He turns and sprints down the alley, disappearing into the shadows. I let him live solely to deliver the message.
My security team swarms the alley. Six heavily armed Costa soldiers secure the perimeter, checking the bodies, securing the black SUVs. My captain walks up to me. He looks at the carnage, then looks at my boots standing in the blood and broken glass.
"Area secure, Boss. We have the cleaners on the way."
"Burn the vehicles. Make the bodies disappear. Increase the guard detail to twenty men. Nobody sleeps."
"Yes, Boss. You okay?"
I look down at my hands. They are steady. The feral rage is slowly retracting, leaving behind a cold, absolute certainty. The war has officially started. The Bellantis are arming up, and they will come back. But they will never touch her.
"I am fine," I say gruffly. I turn around and walk back into the shattered restaurant. The smell of gunpowder and blood is heavy in the air.
I walk to the private elevator. I punch the code. The doors slide open. I step inside and hit the button for the penthouse. The ascent feels agonizingly slow. The adrenaline crash is imminent, but my only thought is getting back to the bedroom. Getting back to the vault.
The elevator chimes. I step out into the pristine, silent living room. The contrast between the slaughter downstairs and the luxury upstairs is jarring. I cross the floor, entering the master bedroom. I walk straight to the closet.
I press my bloody thumb against the biometric scanner. The light flashes green.
The heavy steel door slides open.
Clara is sitting on the floor of the panic room, her knees pulled tight to her chest, wrapped in my oversized black shirt.
She looks up at me. Her eyes scan my body, searching for bullet holes, searching for fatal wounds.
When she realizes I am unharmed, a massive, shuddering sob tears through her chest.
She scrambles to her feet. She runs out of the steel box and throws herself directly into my arms.
I catch her. I wrap my heavy arms around her back, burying my face in her neck. Her sweet, familiar scent hits me, instantly washing away the smell of the alley. She clings to me with desperate, trembling strength.
"You are alive," she whispers against my skin, her tears wetting my shoulder. "You came back."
"I will always come back to you," I vow, tightening my grip until she is pressed seamlessly against my chest. "You are mine. The war stays outside. You stay with me."
I lift her off the floor, carrying her away from the steel cage and back to the bed. The world is burning down around us, but in this room, she is the only thing that matters.