Chapter 7 - BLOOD ON THE CONCRETE
The air in the subterranean vault turned freezing cold.
I stared at Tony, the man who had taught me how to froth milk, the man who had given me an envelope of cash when my heat was shut off. He was standing there with a gun pointed at my chest, his hands shaking so violently I thought the weapon might discharge by accident.
"Tony, stop," I pleaded, my voice echoing off the brass deposit boxes. "Silas is dead. You don't have to do this. Dante can protect you and your wife!"
"Dante can't stop them!" Tony sobbed, wiping his face with his free hand. "You don't understand, Clara. I was just supposed to pass messages. They said nobody would get hurt. Then I owed them money. Then they wanted the drive Isabella stole. If I don't walk out of here with it, they’ll kill my family!"
The two cartel shooters flanking Tony remained completely silent, their weapons locked on Dante.
Dante didn't raise his hands. He didn't flinch. He stood perfectly still, his broad shoulders shielding half of my body.
"Tony," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm, smooth as dark velvet. "You are a pawn. The men standing next to you have orders to kill us, take the drive, and then kill you. They are never going to let you walk away with this."
Tony shook his head frantically. "No! We had a deal!"
"Cartels don't make deals with restaurant owners," Dante said. He slowly raised his hand, holding the velvet box containing the flash drive. "Let Clara go. Let her walk up those stairs. You can have the drive, and you can have me."
"No!" I shouted, grabbing Dante’s arm. "I'm not leaving you!"
"Clara, go," Dante ordered softly, his eyes never leaving the shooters.
One of the cartel men sneered. "Nobody leaves."
The shooter raised his weapon, aiming directly at my face.
He was going to kill me first just to prove a point.
Tony saw the shift in the shooter’s stance. In that split second, the broken, desperate restaurant owner made the only real choice he had left.
With a gut-wrenching scream, Tony turned his revolver away from us and fired point-blank into the chest of the shooter next to him.
The vault erupted into deafening chaos.
The first shooter fell, but the second one reacted instantly, firing a burst of automatic gunfire into Tony’s stomach.
Tony was thrown backward against the heavy steel door, sliding to the marble floor in a smear of bright red.
Dante moved with blinding speed. He drew his weapon from his shoulder holster and fired two precise, lethal shots. The second cartel shooter dropped dead before his empty casings even hit the floor.
The ringing in my ears was excruciating. The smell of gun powder and copper flooded the sterile air of the vault.
"Tony!" I screamed, dropping to my knees beside him.
Tony was gasping for air, his hands clutching his ruined stomach. Blood was pooling rapidly beneath him.
"Clara..." Tony choked, coughing up a fine mist of blood.
"Hold on, Tony, hold on," I wept, pressing my hands frantically against his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. "Dante, call an ambulance!"
"They won't make it in time," Dante said softly, kneeling beside us. He knew death when he saw it.
Tony reached up with a trembling, blood-stained hand and gripped my apron. He pulled me closer.
"I'm sorry, kid," Tony gasped, his eyes losing focus. "I got in too deep. I never... I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know, Tony. I know."
Tony fumbled inside his jacket pocket. He pulled out a crumpled, blood-stained envelope and pressed it into my hand.
"For the bakery," Tony whispered, a sad, broken smile touching his lips. "You make... the best damn croissants in the city."
Tony’s hand fell away. His chest stopped moving. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, completely empty.
I sat there on the cold marble, sobbing over the man who had betrayed me, but who had used his last breath to save my life.
Suddenly, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me.
I turned.
Dante was leaning heavily against the wall of safety deposit boxes. His face was stark white. He was pressing his hand against his left side, and thick, dark blood was pouring through his fingers, soaking his crisp white shirt.
During the chaos, a stray bullet had caught him.
"Dante!" I screamed, scrambling toward him.
May you like
He slid down the wall, his knees buckling. He looked at me, his breathing shallow and ragged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box, pressing it into my hands.
"Take the drive," Dante rasped, his eyes struggling to stay open. "Go back to the penthouse. Take Sophia. Run."
