CHAPTER NINE
A day later, in the wee hours of the morning, a quiet calm hung over the modest two-story house on the Mississippi Delta.
Inside the house, Dominic Gabrini, Junior, the second-oldest child of Reno and Trina Gabrini, was asleep in his bed.
A woman was in bed beside him, a young cashier that worked at the local Piggly Wiggly, and she was fast asleep too.
That calmness outside permeated the inside and a quietness hung over that bedroom just as prominently.
Dommi’s heavy snoring, and the woman’s light snoring, was all that could be heard.
Until all hell broke loose.
Dommi, still half-asleep, suddenly opened his eyes when he thought he heard what sounded like his front door being kicked in.
But when he heard his two live-in bodyguards downstairs taking incoming from those intruders, he jerked up, jumped up, and then quickly grabbed his Glock from out of his nightstand drawer as the sound of running feet could be heard rushing up his stairs.
The woman woke up too. “Get under the bed!” he whispered to her.
“What?”
“Get under the gotdamn bed!” he said to her in that stern way that made clear he wasn’t playing with her. And then Dommi, his muscular body naked from head to toe, fell on the floor on his back beside the bed with his gun pointed at whichever motherfucker came for him first.
And as soon as they kicked his bedroom door open, he started firing. He took out one, two, three, and was about to take out the fourth gunman until four was accompanied by five, six, seven, eight and nine. And they were yelling for him to drop it.
He knew there was no way he was taking out that army of men. So he dropped it.
And before he could lift his hands in surrender, they swarmed him, grabbed him up, and carted him away so fast that by the time that young lady beneath the bed had peeped out, they were already out of that house, in their vans, and gone.
She was trembling in fear. She thought she was going to have a heart attack just stepping over those dead bodies to get downstairs.
But she knew who to call.