Chapter 4 – THE BLOOD ON THE BAKERY FLOOR

The gunshot was deafening inside the empty, cavernous bakery.

Daniel gasped, stumbling backward. He dropped the iron pipe, clutching his chest as a dark red stain blossomed across his expensive camel-hair coat.

He looked up at Victoria with absolute disbelief, then collapsed onto the dusty floor, choking on his own blood.

My mother screamed, burying her face into my shoulder. I held her tight, shaking violently.

Victoria laughed from the catwalk, the smoking revolver still in her hand.

“Well,” Victoria sighed casually, as if she had just swatted a fly. “That’s one problem solved.”

She turned the gun, pointing it directly at Antonio.

Antonio didn’t flinch. Even with his injured leg, he stood tall, placing his body directly between the catwalk and where my mother and I were huddled on the floor.

“You think you can get away with this?” Antonio snarled. “Carlo has the estate locked down. My men are tearing the city apart. You pull that trigger, Victoria, and you won’t make it to the airport.”

“I don’t need to go to the airport,” Victoria smiled down at him. “With Daniel dead, and you out of the picture, I just need Katie’s signature on the forged will to legitimize my claim as your grieving widow. Once I have the Caruso empire, your men will work for me.”

She adjusted her grip on the boy’s collar. The five-year-old was crying silently, too terrified to even make a sound.

“Now,” Victoria demanded. “Where is the wooden box?”

“I don’t have it,” Antonio lied smoothly, though I knew it was locked in the trunk of his SUV outside.

Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

She raised the revolver, aiming it at my head.

“Give me the box, Antonio, or the maid dies right now.”

Antonio’s stoic facade finally cracked. A flash of pure, agonizing panic crossed his face when she pointed the gun at me.

“No!” Antonio yelled, raising his hands. “Don’t touch her. The box is in the car.”

Victoria smiled triumphantly.

“Throw your car keys onto the floor. Kick them over here.”

Antonio reached into his pocket, pulled out the heavy keys, and slid them across the dusty tiles.

“Good boy,” Victoria mocked. She looked down at Daniel’s bleeding body. “It really is a shame. You could have just married me, Antonio. We could have ruled this city together.”

“I’d rather burn in hell,” Antonio promised.

“You’ll get your wish,” Victoria sneered.

She leveled the gun at Antonio’s chest.

Everything happened in a fraction of a second.

I saw her finger tighten on the trigger. I saw Antonio brace for the impact, refusing to step aside and expose me and my mother.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

“Antonio!” I screamed, launching myself off the floor.

I threw my body entirely in front of his, wrapping my arms around his waist just as the gun went off.

The sound ripped through the bakery.

Antonio roared in fury, spinning us both around so his broad back took the brunt of the space, but the bullet had already found its mark.

I felt a blinding, searing heat rip across the side of my ribs.

The force of it knocked the breath completely out of my lungs, sending both me and Antonio crashing into the heavy steel mixing vat.

“Grace!” Antonio screamed, catching me before I hit the floor.

My vision blurred. The pain was like a hot iron pressed against my side, radiating through my entire chest.

“Grace, look at me,” Antonio begged, his hands instantly pressing against my side, his fingers coming away slick with my blood.

Victoria cursed violently from the catwalk.

“Stupid girl!” she shrieked, aiming the gun down again to finish the job.

But before she could fire a third time, the rusted back door of the bakery was kicked completely off its hinges.

Carlo and six heavily armed mafia soldiers swarmed into the room, assault rifles raised.

“Drop the weapon!” Carlo roared, the laser sights of six rifles instantly locking onto Victoria’s chest.

Victoria froze.

She looked at the army of men below her, realizing she was completely trapped.

Slowly, her hands shaking, she let go of the little boy and dropped the revolver over the railing. It clattered uselessly onto the floor.

Antonio didn’t even look at her.

He was kneeling on the floor, holding me in his arms, pressing his suit jacket desperately against my bleeding side.

“I’ve got you,” he wept, the feared mafia boss crying openly as he held a maid in his arms. “I’ve got you, Grace. Please don’t close your eyes.”

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