Chapter 6 - THE FATHER'S WRATH
The glass of the front window exploded entirely, but not from the inside.
A heavy pickup truck slammed directly into the side of the diner, crushing the Lincoln Navigator and tearing through the brick wall of the dining area. The armed men spun around, screaming in confusion as dust and debris filled the air.
Julian stepped out of the dust cloud like a demon summoned from the asphalt. He wasn't holding a baby this time. He was holding two high-caliber handguns.
The diner erupted in a chaotic symphony of suppressed gunfire and deafening roars from Julian's weapons. Hannah dove behind the counter, covering her ears as ceramic mugs shattered and the espresso machine exploded into a geyser of steam.
It lasted less than thirty seconds.
When the shooting stopped, the only sound was the hiss of the broken steam pipe and the heavy thud of Julian's boots on the floor.
"Hannah," Julian's voice called out, tight and urgent. "Are you hit?"
She peeked over the counter. All five syndicate men were on the floor, motionless. Julian was bleeding from a graze on his cheek, his eyes frantically scanning the room until they locked on her.
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"I'm okay," she choked out. Rita emerged from the kitchen, clutching a meat cleaver, her face pale but determined.
"Grab your coats," Julian commanded, reloading his weapon with terrifying speed. "The police will be here in three minutes, and my syndicate's cleaners will be here in two. We are leaving."
