Chapter 8
The steel door rattled again, the heavy deadbolt groaning under the force of a massive impact. Maya scrambled backward, pulling Sophia by the waist until they were pressed tightly against the far brick wall behind a stack of flour sacks.
"Open the door!" a voice shouted from the other side. It wasn't Dante. It was muffled, panicked, and heavily accented. "Break the lock!"
Maya clamped her hand over Sophia’s mouth, though the little girl was too paralyzed by fear to scream. The sound of heavy metal slamming against the steel door echoed like thunder in the tiny room. They were using a crowbar or a meat cleaver to batter the deadbolt.
"Tony!" a voice screamed from further away in the kitchen. It was Marco. "They locked the front! We can't get out!"
A deafening blast shattered the chaos—the unmistakable roar of Tony’s shotgun. Maya squeezed her eyes shut, pulling Sophia so tight to her chest that the little girl squeaked. Footsteps pounded against the tile floor outside, followed by shouts in Italian and the sounds of a brutal fistfight.
"The bad men," Sophia whimpered against Maya’s palm, her large brown eyes spilling hot tears. "They're going to take me too."
"No, they are not," Maya said fiercely, her protective instincts surging past her paralyzing fear. She looked around the tiny room for a weapon. Her eyes landed on a heavy cast-iron meat mallet resting on a lower shelf. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the cold, textured handle. It was heavy, brutal, and better than nothing.
The battering against the door stopped.
Maya held her breath.
"Maya?" a low, rough voice called out through the heavy steel.
Maya froze. It was Dante. But his voice was ragged, strained with exertion and pain.
"Dante?" Maya called back, her voice shaking.
"Open the door, Maya," Dante commanded. "It's safe. Just me."
Maya hesitated. She looked at Sophia, who was trembling violently. Maya slowly stood up, keeping the meat mallet gripped tightly in her right hand. she walked to the door and carefully threw the deadbolt, pulling the heavy steel open just a fraction.
Dante pushed the door the rest of the way.
Maya gasped and took a step back. Dante’s immaculate charcoal suit was ruined. The lapel was torn, and his white shirt was splattered with dark, crimson blood. His knuckles were raw and split open, dripping steadily onto the white tile of the kitchen floor. He was breathing heavily, his pale gray eyes wild with a feral, protective rage.
Behind him, the kitchen was a war zone. Pots and pans were scattered across the floor, and two men in dark trench coats lay completely motionless near the stoves. Tony was leaning against a prep counter, clutching a bleeding shoulder, while Marco was frantically dialing a phone.
Dante didn't look at the carnage. He looked straight at Sophia. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the blood on his hands, and opened his arms.
"Sophia," Dante choked out.
Sophia ran to him. She buried her face into his blood-stained shirt, wrapping her tiny arms around his thick neck. Dante closed his eyes, burying his face in her curls, holding her as if she were the only anchor keeping him tethered to the earth.
Maya watched them, her heart pounding. The terrifying mafia boss had just fought through an army of hitmen with his bare hands to reach his daughter.
"They're dead," Dante whispered to Sophia. "The men who came for you are dead. I've got you."
Maya looked down at the floor, her eyes falling on the clipboard Sophia had dropped. The drawing of the black SUV with the red snake crest stared back at her.
"Dante," Maya said softly, her voice trembling.
May you like
Dante opened his eyes, looking up at her from the floor.
Maya picked up the clipboard and turned it around so he could see it. "She didn't just speak to me," Maya whispered. "She drew this. She knows who took your wife."
