Chapter 6 - THE HARBOR TIDE AND THE NEW KING
Jimmy Morelli stood in the threshold of the small apartment.
He wore a long, wet leather coat, his face slick with rain, his eyes bloodshot and wild with a desperate, murderous rage. In his right hand, he held a heavy, nickel-plated revolver.
Behind him in the hallway, Marco lay unconscious against the baseboards, a dark trickle of blood running from his temple where Jimmy’s men had struck him with a pipe. Two of Jimmy’s lieutenants filled the narrow corridor behind their boss.
"Found you," Jimmy sneered, his yellowed teeth showing in a bitter, feral grin. "You thought you were clever, didn't you, Nico? Hiding in a Chelsea rat hole with your fat little kitchen maid?"
Madeline didn't scream. She stepped directly in front of the bed, her broad body blocking Nico from Jimmy’s sight.
"Get out of my house," Madeline said, her voice low, steady, and terrifyingly cold.
Jimmy laughed—a loud, barking sound that rattled the thin windowpanes of the small room.
"Move out of the way, broad!" Jimmy barked, raising the revolver toward her chest. "Nico’s done. The board voted two hours ago—after I told them he lost his mind over a dog and got hit on the Tobin Bridge. As of midnight, I control the South Boston docks. And dead men don't contest votes."
From the bed, Nico tried to push himself up, but his torn arm gave out under his weight, a fresh dark stain spreading through the white bandage Madeline had just tied.
"Jimmy..." Nico grunted, his dark eyes burning with pure venom. "Leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with the family."
"She has everything to do with this!" Jimmy shouted, his finger tightening on the trigger of the revolver. "She made you look weak! She made you look like a soft, pathetic old man who listens to waitresses! I'm taking the docks, I'm taking the money, and I'm leaving both of you in the Mystic River!"
Madeline didn't wait for Jimmy to finish his speech.
She had spent three years handling heavy copper pots, lifting eighty-pound sacks of flour, and navigating crowded, chaotic dining rooms under pressure.
She reached down, grabbed the heavy, plastic washbasin filled with three gallons of bloody, whiskey-soaked water, and hurled it with all the power in her broad shoulders directly into Jimmy Morelli’s face!
SPLASH!
Three gallons of freezing, stingingly sharp whiskey water slammed into Jimmy’s eyes and mouth.
"AAAAAAGH!" Jimmy shrieked, blinded by the alcohol burning his eyes, dropping his head as he stumbled backward into the doorframe.
"ATLAS! TAKE HIM!" Madeline roared.
The gray pit bull didn't hesitate.
Despite his bandaged shoulder, despite the pain, Atlas exploded off the hardwood floor like an eighty-five-pound cannonball!
He cleared the space between the bed and the door in a single, magnificent leap, his jaws snapping shut with a sickening CRUNCH around Jimmy Morelli’s right wrist!
Jimmy let out an agonized, high-pitched scream as the nickel-plated revolver clattered onto the hardwood floor.
"GET HIM OFF ME! GET HIM OFF!" Jimmy shrieked, flailing wildly as Atlas dragged him down onto the hallway floorboards, pinning him with the full, relentless force of an animal defending his home.
The two lieutenants behind Jimmy panicked. Seeing the blood, the ferocious dog, and Madeline charging into the hallway holding a heavy iron skillet from her stove, both men turned and fled down the narrow staircase, their heavy boots thundering into the rainy night.
Madeline stepped over the screaming Jimmy Morelli, reached down with her foot, and kicked the nickel-plated revolver down the hall, out of reach.
Then she picked up the gun.
She cocked the heavy hammer back with a sharp, metallic CLICK, holding the weapon with two steady hands, aiming it directly between Jimmy Morelli’s bloodshot, whiskey-stung eyes.
"Atlas, hold," Madeline commanded softly.
The dog immediately stopped biting, but kept his heavy paws planted firmly on Jimmy’s chest, his jaws inches from the man’s throat, letting out a deep, steady growl that vibrated through the floorboards.
Jimmy lay on the dirty hallway floor, weeping, bleeding from his wrist, staring up at the broad, immovable figure of the waitress standing over him with a loaded pistol.
"Don't shoot... please... don't shoot..." Jimmy blubbered, his bravado completely destroyed.
Behind her, the apartment door opened wider.
Nico stepped out into the hallway. He was pale, holding his bandaged arm against his ribs, but his posture was straight, absolute, and towering.
He walked over, looking down at his weeping cousin on the floor.
"Marco," Nico said quietly.
On the floor near the stairs, Marco groaned, pushing himself up against the wall, rubbing his bleeding temple. "I'm here, Boss."
"Call the family council," Nico ordered, his voice echoing through the quiet building like thunder. "Tell them Jimmy Morelli attempted an unauthorized hit on the Chairman. Tell them he used street thugs in Chelsea. And tell them to meet me at the Harbor Club at eight tomorrow morning for his execution."
Jimmy let out a pathetic, whimpering sob. "Nico... please... we're blood!"
"You bled my dog," Nico said coldly, turning his back on his cousin. "And you threatened the woman who saved my life. You are no longer family, Jimmy. You are trash."
Marco grabbed Jimmy by his coat collar, hauling the weeping man to his feet, dragging him down the dark stairs toward the rainy street below.
The quiet returned to the third-floor hallway.
The cold rain continued to splash against the small landing window, but inside, the air was warm, clear, and peaceful.
Madeline lowered the revolver, uncocking the hammer with practiced ease, and set it on her kitchen table. She turned back to Nico.
He was standing two feet from her, his dark eyes searching her face with an intensity so fierce it made her pulse race faster than the gunfight on the bridge.
Atlas trotted back into the room, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction, sitting down right between them, his gray tail giving a happy, rhythmic thump against the floor.
"You're a terrifying woman, Madeline Brooks," Nico whispered, stepping closer, reaching out his uninjured right hand to frame her soft, warm cheek.
Madeline didn't pull away. She leaned into his palm, feeling the strength, the heat, and the absolute devotion in his touch.
"I told you," she said softly, a tiny, beautiful smile finally breaking across her face. "I don't like people who hurt animals. Or men who try to shoot my guests."
Nico smiled—a real, radiant smile that transformed his severe face into something breathtakingly handsome.
He pulled her toward him. Despite the bandage on his arm, despite the blood on his shirt, he wrapped his strong right arm around her waist, pulling her full, powerful body flush against his chest.
"Bellaforte is finished," Nico murmured against her lips, his breath warm and sweet. "Tomorrow, you're coming with me to the South Boston waterfront."
"I told you, I don't work for mob bosses," Madeline teased gently, her hands resting over his heavy shoulders.
"You won't be working for me," Nico whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed hers in a deep, slow, magnificent kiss that tasted of rain, whiskey, and victory. "You'll be running the family with me. As the queen of the harbor."
Madeline wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight, surrendering to the warmth of his chest while the pit bull sat happily at their feet.
Outside, the cold rain fell over the streets of Boston, washing away the blood on the asphalt.
Inside, the shadows were gone.
May you like
The waitress who refused to apologize for taking up space had just taken over the city.
And the king of the waterfront had finally found his home.
