Chapter 2 – The Gunshot In The Dining Room
The suppressed gunshot sounded like a heavy book slamming onto a wooden floor.
It happened so fast my brain couldn’t process the violence. One second, the guard was aiming at Antonio’s chest. The next, Vanessa screamed and threw herself forward, her red silk dress flashing in the candlelight.
She slammed into Antonio, pushing his massive frame out of the line of fire just as the bullet tore through the air.
The round shattered the wine bottle on the table. Dark red wine exploded across the white tablecloth, looking horrifyingly like blood.
Antonio didn’t freeze. Thirty years of surviving assassination attempts kicked in instantly.
As he fell backward, he pulled his own weapon from his shoulder holster. Before his back even hit the floor, he fired twice.
The guard’s chest jerked backward. He collapsed in the doorway, the suppressed gun clattering onto the marble tile.
The private room fell dead silent, save for the sound of wine dripping onto the floor.
“Vanessa!” Antonio shouted, scrambling to his feet.
The younger woman was curled on the floor near the shattered glass. I rushed forward, my heart in my throat, terrified that she had taken the bullet meant for my husband.
But she was breathing heavily, clutching her diamond bracelet. “I’m okay,” she sobbed. “I slipped on the wine. I’m not hit.”
Antonio pulled her up, then grabbed my arm, yanking me away from the doorway.
“We have to move,” he commanded, his eyes scanning the dark hallway beyond the dead guard. “If Carlo bought my personal detail, the entire perimeter is compromised.”
“Antonio, what is happening?” I panicked, clutching my navy dress. “Why is your brother trying to kill you?”
“Because he wants the seat,” Antonio snarled, checking his weapon’s magazine. “And he needed to separate us first. He knew as long as you and I were a united front, the older capos would never back a coup. He faked your betrayal to break me. To make me distracted. To make me weak.”
He looked at Vanessa. “And you were the distraction.”
Vanessa wiped her tears, her makeup smeared across her pale face. “I didn’t know he was going to kill you, Antonio! I swear on my life! He just said he needed you occupied so he could restructure the accounts!”
“Where is your brother?” Antonio demanded, grabbing her shoulders.
“He’s… he’s at the safehouse,” Vanessa stammered. “On 4th Street. Carlo has him hostage until I finish my job.”
“Your job was keeping me in this restaurant tonight,” Antonio realized, the final puzzle piece sliding into place. “It was a kill box.”
Antonio grabbed the dead guard’s radio. He didn’t press the button to speak. He just listened.
Static hissed, followed by a voice I recognized immediately.
“Team One, report. Is the package secured?”
It was Carlo’s voice.
Antonio’s jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth would crack.
He looked at me. The fear I had seen earlier was gone, replaced by a devastating, protective fury.
“Margaret,” he said softly, handing me the dead guard’s heavy handgun. “Do you remember how to use this?”
I stared at the cold metal. Thirty years ago, during our first year of marriage, Antonio had taken me to a deserted quarry and taught me how to shoot. I had prayed I would never need to remember.
“Safety off,” I whispered, my hands shaking. “Pull the slide. Aim for center mass.”
“Good girl,” he breathed, kissing my forehead. It was the first time he had touched me all night. It felt like a spark of electricity hitting a dead wire.
“We are going out the kitchen exit,” Antonio ordered. “Vanessa, stay behind Margaret. If anyone wearing a black suit steps in front of you, you do not hesitate, Maggie. You fire.”
We stepped over the body and moved into the dim hallway.
The restaurant was eerily quiet. Carlo’s men must have cleared the staff and patrons before making their move. We pushed through the swinging doors into the massive industrial kitchen.
Stainless steel counters gleamed under emergency lighting. Pots were still simmering on the stoves, the scent of garlic and butter completely at odds with the smell of gunpowder.
Suddenly, the back door of the kitchen burst open.
Two more men in dark suits stepped inside, raising automatic weapons.
Antonio fired instantly, dropping the first man. But the second man dove behind a heavy prep counter, returning fire.
Bullets pinged violently against the stainless steel, showering us in sparks. Antonio shoved me and Vanessa behind a heavy walk-in freezer door.
“I’m pinned!” Antonio yelled over the gunfire. “I can’t get an angle!”
I gripped the gun in my hands. My chest was heaving. I was a fifty-three-year-old mother, wearing an anniversary dress and pearls.
But I was also a mafia boss’s wife.
I dropped to the floor, crawling on my stomach around the edge of the freezer. The shooter was focused entirely on Antonio’s position, completely ignoring the floor line.
I saw his black leather shoes. I saw the gap under the counter.
I raised the gun, squeezed my eyes shut, and pulled the trigger.
The gun bucked violently in my hands. The deafening crack echoed through the kitchen.
The man screamed, his weapon clattering to the floor as he clutched his shattered knee.
Antonio moved like lightning, crossing the kitchen and knocking the man unconscious with the butt of his gun.
He looked back at me, panting, a look of absolute awe on his face.
“You haven’t lost your touch, Maggie,” he said.
I scrambled to my feet, my dress stained with grease and floor dirt. “Let’s just get out of here.”
We rushed out the back alley into the pouring rain. Antonio’s armored SUV was parked near the dumpsters, but the tires had been slashed.
“We need a car,” Antonio cursed.
Vanessa reached into her small clutch and pulled out a set of keys. “Take mine. It’s parked on the street.”
We sprinted through the rain, piling into Vanessa’s unassuming sedan. Antonio hotwired the GPS tracker under the dashboard, tearing the wires out so Carlo couldn’t trace us.
He slammed the car into drive, peeling away from the curb just as three more black SUVs boxed in the restaurant.
As we sped into the night, the adrenaline slowly began to recede, leaving behind the crushing weight of reality.
I looked at my husband in the driver’s seat. He was alive. We were together.
But my ring was still sitting on a table in a restaurant surrounded by dead men.
“Antonio,” I said softly, the sound of the rain hitting the windshield filling the silence. “Where are we going?”
He didn’t look at me. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.
“We have to go to Elena’s house,” he said, his voice thick with dread.
My heart stopped. Our daughter.
“Why?” I panicked.
Antonio looked at me through the rearview mirror.
“Because Carlo didn’t just want to kill me tonight, Margaret. He needs leverage against the Commission to legitimize his takeover.”
He swallowed hard.
“And the only leverage Carlo can use… is our grandson.”
TITLE: The Torn Coat On The Porch
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