Chapter 3 - FLIGHT FROM DOT'S DINER
Gunfire shattered the front windows before I could even process his command. The sound of breaking glass and screaming patrons echoed through the kitchen. Dot’s voice yelled something fierce and defiant, followed by the terrifying staccato of automatic weapons.
"Go!" Damiano roared, shoving me toward the back exit.
I didn't hesitate. I threw open the storeroom door, grabbed a terrified Nico from his corner booth, and hoisted his five-year-old weight onto my hip. "Hold on tight, baby," I gasped, sprinting toward the alley door.
"Mama, where's the man with my eyes?" Nico cried out, burying his face into my shoulder as a bullet splintered the doorframe inches from my head.
"He's right behind us," I lied, kicking the fire door open into the freezing sleet. We plunged into the gray afternoon, my secondhand waitress shoes slipping on the wet asphalt. Tires screeched at the end of the alley. A sleek, bulletproof black SUV slid sideways, blocking our path. For a second, my heart stopped, thinking it was the Vieri hitmen. Then, the backdoor flew open, and a towering man with a scarred face yelled, "Boss's orders! Get in, Mrs. Rocca!"
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It was Enzo. Damiano's most trusted lieutenant. I hadn't been called 'Mrs. Rocca' in half a decade, but I didn't care. I threw Nico into the backseat and dove in after him just as Damiano emerged from the alley, laying down covering fire before sliding into the front seat.
"Drive," Damiano commanded, his chest heaving, his dark eyes snapping to the rearview mirror. We were alive, but the quiet life I had built was burning to the ground behind us.
