Chapter 8 - The Standoff
The kitchen doors flew open.
Alessandro stepped into the diner, his pistol raised. He didn't hesitate. He fired three times in rapid succession.
Two of Dante’s men dropped instantly, their weapons clattering against the checkered tile floor. The third man spun around, firing a wild spray of bullets that shattered the front windows, but Alessandro was already moving. He slid behind a flipped table, returning fire and taking the third man out with a clean shot to the chest.
In the chaos, Victor Russo proved exactly why he had survived in the mafia for twenty-five years.
He didn't try to shoot Alessandro. He lunged for the only shield he had.
Victor grabbed Leo, wrapping a massive arm around the boy’s chest and pressing the barrel of his gun against Leo’s temple.
“Drop it, Alessandro!” Victor roared over the ringing silence of the diner.
Alessandro froze. The gun in his hand trembled slightly as he stared at his son. Leo was entirely rigid, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, dropping his wooden train onto the floor.
“Let him go, Victor,” Alessandro commanded, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, primal fury. “You have the ledger. Take it and walk out. But if you hurt my son, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you die screaming.”
From my position trapped in the ceiling vent, I could barely breathe. The grease was slick beneath my hands, the smell of gunpowder burning my nose. I had to do something. I had the gun Alessandro gave me, but I didn't have a clear shot. Victor was using Leo as a perfect shield.
“I don’t want your life, boss,” Victor sneered, backing slowly toward the shattered front doors, the black ledger tucked under his arm. “I just want the power I earned. Dante is weak. With this book, the Commission will back me. I’ll be the head of the families.”
“You’re a traitor,” Rosa choked out from her tied chair, blood dripping from her lip.
Victor ignored her. He took another step backward, dragging Leo with him. “Kick your gun away, Alessandro.”
Alessandro stared at Victor, his chest heaving. Slowly, agonizingly, he lowered his weapon and kicked it across the floor.
“Good,” Victor smiled. “Now, I’m going to walk out that door. I’ll leave the boy in the alley. If you follow me before I start my car, I put a bullet in him.”
Victor took another step back. He was directly beneath the ceiling vent where I was hiding.
I looked down at Victor’s slicked-back silver hair. He was right under me.
I didn't aim the gun. I knew if I missed, I could hit Leo.
Instead, I looked at the massive, industrial fire-suppression lever bolted to the wall inside the vent—the manual override for the diner’s chemical foam system.
Rosa had told me once that the system was so old and pressurized, pulling it would release enough foam to suffocate a grease fire in ten seconds.
I grabbed the heavy red lever with both bleeding hands and pulled with everything I had.
A deafening siren erupted through the diner.
Instantly, the ceiling nozzles blasted a blinding, suffocating wave of thick, white chemical foam directly onto Victor’s head.
Victor shrieked, blinded by the burning chemicals. Instinctively, he raised his arms to wipe his eyes, releasing his grip on Leo.
“Leo, run!” I screamed from the vent.
Leo didn't hesitate. He scrambled on his hands and knees through the foam, diving under a booth.
Alessandro surged forward like a panther. He tackled Victor to the ground before the older man could wipe his eyes. The two men crashed into the counter, fists flying. Victor managed to swing his gun, clipping Alessandro across the jaw, but Alessandro didn't even flinch. He grabbed Victor’s wrist, slammed it against the edge of the counter until the gun dropped, and then drove a devastating punch into Victor’s face.
Victor slumped to the floor, unconscious.
The fire foam continued to rain down, coating the diner in white.
Alessandro ignored Victor. He dropped to his knees, frantically searching beneath the booths.
“Leo? Leo!”
Leo crawled out from under the booth, covered in white foam. Alessandro swept the boy into his arms, burying his face in Leo’s neck, his broad shoulders shaking with immense relief.
I kicked the vent grate completely open and dropped down onto the counter, wincing as my boots hit the stainless steel.
I jumped down and rushed over to Rosa, frantically untying the thick ropes binding her to the chair.
“Are you okay?” I asked, tears stinging my eyes.
Rosa smiled through her bruised face, patting my cheek. “I always said you were my best waitress, Nora.”
I laughed, a wet, breathless sound, and turned around.
But the relief died instantly in my throat.
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Standing in the shattered doorway of the diner, completely untouched by the foam, was Dante Romano.
And he had his gun pointed directly at the back of Alessandro’s head.
