Chapter 2 - INTO THE BLACK
The darkness wasn't just sudden; it was absolute. One second, the harsh neon of my diner illuminated the rain striking the front windows, and the next, we were plunged into a void so thick you could choke on it.
"Get down!"
I didn't know who shouted it—maybe the father, maybe one of the men in the dark coats—but the command was followed instantly by the deafening shatter of the front window. Glass exploded inward, riding a wave of freezing rain and the unmistakable staccato crack-crack-crack of automatic gunfire.
Instinct, honed by years of running a late-night joint in a neighborhood where you learned to mind your business, took over. I dove behind the counter, dragging Theo with me. The kid was weightless, terrifyingly light, but he didn't scream. He just hit the linoleum beside me, his good hand gripping my apron like a lifeline, his other hand still fiercely guarding his mother’s watch.
Above us, the diner was being torn apart. The espresso machine took a hit, venting a massive cloud of hissing steam that added to the chaos. Ketchup bottles shattered, raining red across the black-and-white checkered floor.
"Julian, the back door!" one of the suited men bellowed over the gunfire.
Julian. So that was the father's name.
"They have the alley covered," Julian’s voice came back, shockingly calm, echoing from somewhere near the jukebox. "It's Russo’s men. They’re using the blackout to bottleneck us. Marcus!"
I heard my cook, Marcus, swear violently from the kitchen pass-through. "I'm down, man! I'm just a cook!"
"Delia!" Julian’s voice sliced through the dark, finding me with terrifying precision. "Is there a basement?"
"Yes!" I yelled back, my ears ringing. "Trapdoor behind the register! It leads to an old bootlegger tunnel that dumps out into the subway access grate two streets over!"
I didn't have time to question why I was helping Chicago's most feared mafia boss. I just knew the boy trembling against my side wouldn't survive a standoff.
"Move," Julian commanded. A flare of muzzle flashes illuminated the room as his men laid down suppressing fire. In that strobe-light chaos, Julian appeared beside me, grabbing Theo by the collar and hoisting him up. "Open it, Delia."
I scrambled on my hands and knees, fingers finding the cold brass ring of the trapdoor. I hauled it open, the heavy wood groaning. Stale, damp air rushed up to meet us.
"Go. Take him," Julian ordered, shoving Theo toward me.
"What about you?" Theo cried out, his voice finally breaking its stoic facade. "Papa!"
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"I am right behind you. Go!"
I grabbed Theo's arm and practically threw us both down the narrow wooden stairs, plunging into the pitch-black belly of the city just as the diner floor above us ignited in a fresh hell of bullets.
