Chapter 3 - THE CROSSFIRE
"Down! Everybody down!" Dante roared, diving behind an overturned mahogany banquet table as a burst of submachine gun fire chewed up the bar counter just inches from where Evelyn was crouching.
The deafening rattle of automatic weapons turned the elegant dining room into a war zone. Glassware shattered into fine powder; liquor bottles exploded behind the bar, sending a sticky waterfall of scotch and vodka across the floor. Through the haze of smoke and flashing strobe lights, Evelyn could see three masked men in tactical gear advancing from the kitchen, sweeping the room with lethal efficiency. They weren't here to rob the place. They were clean-up crew—sent to finish what the bomb at the north exit had failed to accomplish.
Lorenzo Moretti didn't flinch. While his men scrambled for cover, Lorenzo calmly stepped behind a massive marble pillar, his Colt Python raised with one hand while his left hand flicked a lighter to ignite a cigarette. He didn't look rushed; he looked like a man executing a routine chore.
Bang. Bang.
Two deafening gunshots cut through the rattle of the submachine guns. The lead intruder jerked violently backward, crashing over a service cart as a clean round pierced his tactical vest.
"Dante! Flank the pantry!" Lorenzo commanded, his voice slicing through the noise.
"On it, Boss!" Dante vaulted over a row of velvet-backed chairs, returning fire with a suppressed pistol while sprinting toward the service corridor.
From her vantage point behind the broken service bar, Evelyn’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She knew she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If the hitmen didn't kill her, the crossfire would. Or worse, once the dust settled, Lorenzo Moretti might decide that a humble waitress who knew too much about his fiancée's assassination plot was a loose end that needed tying.
She needed to move. Now.
Crawling on her hands and knees through the shattered glass and spilled champagne, Evelyn inched toward the rear exit leading to the employee locker rooms and the alleyway beyond. Her black apron was stained with soot and blood—someone else's blood from the initial blast—and her palms were stinging from dozens of tiny glass cuts.
Clack.
Her knee hit a discarded metal tray. The sound was criminally loud in the lull between gunfire bursts.
Instantly, the firing stopped. A heavy, suffocating silence descended on the room, broken only by the crackle of flames licking at the northern wall and the steady drip of a broken water pipe.
"We’ve got a tail in the back," a raspy voice called out from near the kitchen doors.
Heavy tactical boots crunched against the glass. Footsteps were heading straight toward the service bar.
Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against the cool marble floor. She reached blindly into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the crumpled remains of the cocktail napkin she had used to save the mob boss's life. What an ironic, stupid way to die.
"Well, well, well," a harsh voice muttered right above her. A heavy hand gripped the back of her black uniform shirt, violently hauling her up to her feet.
Evelyn gasped, looking up into the terrifying, sweat-streaked face of a masked gunman. He pressed the cold muzzle of a suppressed pistol directly against her temple.
"Look what we found hiding in the kitchen, boys," the gunman laughed darkly. "A little witness."
Before he could squeeze the trigger, a deafening roar echoed through the room. The back of the gunman’s head exploded in a crimson mist. The man dropped instantly, dragging Evelyn down with him in a heap of dead weight.
Evelyn screamed, kicking frantically to free herself from the corpse as heavy footsteps rushed toward her.
A large, calloused hand grabbed her arm and hoisted her upward with terrifying strength. She looked up, trembling violently, expecting another killer. Instead, she found herself staring directly into the dark, impenetrable eyes of Lorenzo Moretti.
"Can you run, waitress?" Lorenzo asked, his voice low, steady, and dangerously calm as he reloaded his Colt with practiced ease.
May you like
Evelyn swallowed hard, nodding mutely.
"Good," Lorenzo said, pulling her behind the massive marble pillar out of the line of fire. "Because we're leaving."
