Chapter 3 - CROSSFIRE AND CHAOS
Glass rained down on us like jagged diamonds. The Castellano hit squad had moved in, assuming the poison would do their work quietly. Instead, Dominic returned fire with terrifying, mechanical precision. “Keep your head down,” he barked, shoving me toward the kitchen corridor. We navigated the labyrinth of stainless steel, bursting into the rainy Manhattan alleyway. My manager, Paul, lay motionless by the dumpster, clutching a thick envelope of payout cash. I was trembling, the crushing reality of my father’s $150,000 debt suddenly feeling entirely irrelevant when a bullet could end my life for free. Dominic shoved me into a waiting black SUV, the tires screaming against the wet asphalt as we tore into the night.
