Chapter 2 - Blood Under the Floorboards
My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“What do you mean?” my fingers signed rapidly.
Salvatore did not blink.
He slid a burner phone across the white linen.
“Call your brother right now.”
The cold authority in his gesture made my blood turn to ice.
I grabbed my cracked phone from my apron pocket.
I dialed Danny’s direct number.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Straight to automated voicemail.
Panic surged into my throat like hot acid.
Danny always answered by the third ring.
Always.
He kept his phone glued to his palm because he couldn't hear the apartment
intercom.
“He is not picking up,” I signed, terror making my hands slip.
Salvatore rose from the table in one smooth motion.
The velvet chair did not even screech against the carpet.
He adjusted his cufflinks.
“We are leaving.”
“Salvatore, wait—” I whispered aloud.
He pointed toward the back fire exit behind the heavy velvet curtain.
Two enormous men in matching dark trench coats stepped out of the shadows.
Their hands hovered inside their coats.
They moved like trained wolves.
The main door of Room Nine swung open violently.
Brett stood in the threshold, holding a leather clipboard.
His eyes darted between me and the untouched dinner plates.
“Maya, what the hell are you doing?” Brett barked.
“Shift isn't over. Table twelve needs refills.”
Salvatore didn't even turn his head.
He walked straight toward Brett.
Brett puffed out his chest, trying to maintain his pathetic managerial stance.
Salvatore stopped two inches from Brett’s face.
He leaned down slowly.
He didn't sign.
He didn't speak.
He simply stared into Brett’s eyes with pupils black as hollow graves.
Brett’s smug smile withered into sheer terror.
Sweat broke across Brett’s hairline in tiny, greasy beads.
He took one involuntary step backward into the narrow corridor.
Salvatore brushed past him as if Brett were made of dirty steam.
We exited through the alley door into the biting Chicago chill.
A matte-black armored sedan idle at the curb.
The exhaust pipe hissed white smoke into the freezing rain.
The rear door was already open.
“Get inside,” Salvatore signed, his jaw tight as iron.
“Where is my brother?” I shouted aloud, frantic.
He didn't hear my voice, but he read every single syllable off my mouth.
He gently gripped my elbow and guided me onto the leather seat.
“My men are already at your building,” he signed once he sat beside me.
“Pray we got there before Carmine’s crew.”
“Carmine?” I repeated out loud, shivering.
The car surged forward into the dark streets of the West Side.
The driver ran two red lights without tapping the brakes.
“Carmine Moretti,” Salvatore signed calmly.
His fingers were steady despite the car swaying sharply around corners.
“He owns Bellamy’s restaurant through three shell companies.”
“Brett reports to him.”
“They used you as bait to test my reflexes.”
“When I defended you, they realized you were my weak point.”
Nausea rolled through my stomach.
I was just a waitress making ten dollars an hour plus tips.
I was nobody.
Now my apartment, my brother, my entire life was caught in mob crossfire.
We turned hard onto my street in Pilsen.
The rusted streetlights flickered against the cracked asphalt.
Two black SUVs were already parked haphazardly across the curb of my tenement.
My apartment building’s front glass door was completely shattered.
Jagged shards sparkled on the sidewalk like spilled diamonds.
“Danny!” I screamed, ripping open the car door before it fully stopped.
Salvatore caught my wrist with impossible speed.
“Behind me,” he signed with cold fury.
“Stay behind me, Maya.”
He pulled a matte-black Glock from inside his custom suit jacket.
He racked the slide with one crisp, mechanical snap.
His guards swarmed the exterior staircase, weapons drawn.
We raced up the three flights of narrow stairs.
The stench of cheap paint and copper filled the hallway.
My front door was hanging off its hinges.
The deadbolt was ripped entirely out of the splintered wooden frame.
I stumbled into our cramped living room.
Danny’s school books were scattered everywhere across the linoleum.
Our tiny secondhand sofa was sliced open, yellow foam spilling out.
The kitchen cabinets were hanging open.
“Danny!” I cried, tears blinding my vision.
The apartment was dead silent.
A dark smear of fresh blood ran across the edge of the hallway floorboards.
Salvatore stepped over the shattered coffee table.
He knelt down on the wooden floor.
He pressed his palm flat against the floorboards, feeling the subtle vibrations
of the room.
His eyes narrowed.
He looked toward the narrow pantry closet at the end of the hall.
He raised his weapon.
He gestured for his guards to stack against the wall.
He reached out with his left hand and ripped the pantry door wide open.
Inside, curled behind a sack of cheap rice, was a shadow.
A young boy clutching a kitchen knife with white, shaking knuckles.
Danny.
“Maya!” Danny choked out, dropping the knife.
I threw myself onto the floor and wrapped my arms around his shaking shoulders.
He was hyperventilating, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
“Two men kicked the door down,” Danny cried against my neck.
“They had guns... they were asking where you were!”
Salvatore holstered his weapon.
He knelt down beside us.
He raised his hands and signed gently to Danny:
“You were brave. You hid well.”
Danny stared at the scarred giant in shock.
He recognized the signs instantly.
Danny’s breathing began to slow.
Suddenly, a guard by the front window shouted something urgent.
Salvatore didn't hear him, but he saw the guard dive behind the plaster wall.
A deafening burst of automatic gunfire tore through our apartment windows.
Glass exploded inward.
Plaster rained down in choking white clouds.
Salvatore threw his massive body over Danny and me, shielding us completely.
A bullet ripped through the wall an inch above his shoulder.
He didn't flinch.
May you like
He grabbed my chin, forced me to look at him, and signed one urgent command:
“The fire escape. Now.”
