Chapter 3 - The Siege of Serafina
"Down!" I roared.
I lunged forward, sweeping Elena and Mia into my arms and tackling them behind the heavy marble bar just as the front windows exploded into ten thousand glittering shards of glass.
A hail of automatic gunfire shredded the white tablecloths, shattered the crystal chandeliers, and ripped through the plush velvet chairs. Plaster and dust rained down on us as the thunderous roar of submachine guns deafened the room.
Matteo drew two silenced handguns from his jacket, firing back smoothly through the smoke as Lorenzo’s men began pouring through the shattered front entrance.
Underneath the bar, Mia buried her face against my chest, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around my neck. Despite the deafening noise, despite the smell of gunpowder and blood, she didn't scream. She held onto me as if she knew instinctively that the man holding her would burn the world to ash before letting a single bullet touch her.
"Hold her!" I yelled to Elena, pulling a sleek black semi-automatic from my shoulder holster and handing Mia over to her mother.
"Dominic, be careful!" Elena cried out, her eyes shining with sudden, panicked terror—not for herself, but for me. Five years of bitterness vanished beneath the primal need to survive.
I leaned out from behind the marble counter, taking precise, lethal shots. Two of Lorenzo’s gunmen fell instantly in the foyer. Matteo took down a third as he tried to flank the bar.
"They brought eight men!" Matteo called out over the gunfire, slamming a fresh magazine into his pistol. "We have three minutes before NYPD response!"
"NYPD won't come!" I barked back, firing twice more. "Lorenzo paid off the precinct chief for this sector! We’re on our own!"
I checked my remaining ammunition. Two magazines left.
Outside, the rain poured through the shattered windows, mixing with the smoke and fire. I looked back at Elena, who was crouching over Mia, shielding her daughter’s body with her own.
For five years, I had believed I was a powerful man. I had accumulated wealth, territory, and fear. But looking at the woman I had broken and the daughter I had never known I had, I realized I had been completely powerless—a puppet controlled by dead men and treacherous snakes.
"Elena," I said, leaning close to her as bullets chipped away at the counter above us. "Do you trust Matteo?"
"With my life," she answered without hesitation.
"Good," I said, reaching out to gently brush a thumb over Mia’s soft cheek. The little girl looked up at me, her gold-specked eyes shining in the dim light. "Take Mia out through the kitchen service elevator. It leads to the underground wine cellar that connects to the subway grate on 82nd Street."
"What about you?" Elena asked, her voice cracking.
May you like
I pulled my second magazine from my belt and snapped it into place. A cold, ruthless smile touched my lips—the smile that had earned me the title of Don.
"I’m going to go have a conversation with my cousin."
