Chapter 5 - Glass and Gunpowder
By 2:00 AM, Chicago’s downtown streets were dead.
Freezing rain had turned into thick, wet snow that swallowed every sound.
Bellamy’s looked shut down from the outside.
The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight over the tinted windows.
The brass neon sign flickered faintly against the slush.
We parked three blocks away in an unmarked utility van.
Danny was safe in Salvatore’s fortified bunker under the care of four loyal
guards.
I had hugged him tightly before leaving.
“Don’t let them hurt you, Maya,” he had signed with tears in his eyes.
“I won’t,” I had promised.
Inside the van, Salvatore strapped a lightweight kevlar vest beneath my black
coat.
His fingers brushed against my collarbone.
They were gentle, almost reverent.
“You don’t have to do this,” he signed, searching my eyes.
“I can send my strike team in alone.”
“No,” I signed back with fierce certainty.
“They will suspect a trap if you kick the door down.”
“They need to see me first.”
“They need to think I escaped the penthouse alone to beg for Danny’s life.”
Salvatore stared at me for a long moment.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate silver chain.
Hanging from the chain was a tiny, intricate silver signet ring.
He slipped the necklace over my head, tucking the ring beneath my shirt.
“My father’s ring,” he signed.
“Every man in this city knows what it means.”
“If anything happens to me, you show this to my captains.”
“They will obey you until their last breath.”
My heart leaped into my throat.
“Salvatore...” I whispered.
He pressed two fingers against my lips to quiet me.
“Survive,” he signed.
I stepped out of the van into the slush.
I deliberately messed up my hair.
I smeared black ash across my cheek.
I staggered toward the back kitchen door of Bellamy’s like a wounded animal.
I banged on the heavy metal service door with both fists.
“Brett! Carla! Please!” I screamed into the freezing night.
“Help me! They blew up the building!”
The peephole slid open.
A second later, the heavy deadbolt turned.
Carla stood in the doorway.
She was no longer wearing her waitress apron.
She wore a tailored red silk blouse and held an Italian semi-automatic pistol by
her thigh.
Her eyes were cold, calculating, and victorious.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Carla purred, yanking me inside by the coat.
She shoved me hard onto the greasy kitchen tiles.
I landed on my knees, sobbing convincingly.
Brett was standing near the butcher block.
He held a glass of expensive champagne in one hand.
Sitting at the chef’s table in the center of the kitchen was an older man with
silver hair.
Carmine Moretti.
He looked like a venomous toad wrapped in a five-thousand-dollar cashmere coat.
“Where is Salvatore?” Carmine rasped, cutting a piece of rare steak.
“He’s dead!” I cried, choking back fake tears.
“The garage collapsed! The fire took him!”
“Where is Danny? You promised Brett wouldn't hurt Danny!”
Brett burst into cruel laughter.
“You stupid, gullible little charity case,” Brett mocked, stepping toward me.
“Did you actually think you were going to walk away with that deaf freak’s
money?”
“Danny’s already being shipped to a warehouse in Gary.”
Carla smiled, leveling her gun at the back of my head.
“Thank you for confirming the kill, Maya,” Carla whispered in my ear.
“Now you can join your boss in hell.”
I stopped crying.
I wiped the ash from my cheek with the back of my hand.
I looked Carla straight in her smirking eyes.
“You’re wrong about one thing, Carla,” I said in a calm, clear voice.
Carla’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“He isn't dead.”
Before she could process my words, I dropped flat onto the kitchen floor.
The heavy industrial skylight above the kitchen shattered in a deafening cascade
of safety glass.
Two stun grenades plummeted through the ceiling, detonating with blinding white
light and thunderous force.
Carla screamed, clutching her blinded eyes.
Brett dropped his champagne flute, stumbling backward against the industrial
ovens.
Carmine threw himself beneath the prep table like a cornered rat.
Through the rain of falling glass and smoke, Salvatore dropped down.
He landed on the stainless steel prep island like an avenging demon.
His black coat flared behind him.
In his hands were twin suppressed pistols.
Carla swung her weapon blindly toward the noise.
Salvatore fired once.
The bullet took Carla’s gun clean out of her hand, shattering her wrist.
She shrieked in agony, collapsing against the dishwashing station.
Brett scrambled toward the emergency exit.
I shot forward, grabbing a heavy cast-iron skillet from the low rack.
With all the fury of every underpaid shift and every terrified hour, I swung it.
The iron smashed into Brett’s kneecap with a sickening crunch.
Brett collapsed, screaming and clutching his shattered leg.
Salvatore stepped off the prep island.
He stood over Carmine Moretti, who was cowering under the stainless steel table.
Carmine looked up, pale as a corpse, trembling uncontrollably.
“Salvatore... please,” Carmine begged, his voice cracking.
“It was business! We can split the docks! Fifty-fifty!”
Salvatore looked down at the man who had ordered his father’s murder fifteen
years ago.
He didn't sign.
He didn't read his lips.
He simply aimed his weapon between Carmine’s eyes.
Suddenly, from the kitchen doorway, a loud click echoed.
Brett had dragged himself to his fallen gun.
He had the barrel aimed directly at Salvatore’s exposed back.
“Die, you deaf bastard!” Brett shrieked.
Salvatore couldn't hear the click.
May you like
He couldn't hear the shout.
His back was completely turned.
