THE CHEST FULL OF LEAD WEIGHTS

“Uncle Luca!” Leo cried out, his little feet barely touching the floor as the massive guard held him by the collar.

Luca’s entire body went rigid. The gun in his hand trembled for a fraction of a second, the instinct of a father warring with the discipline of a boss.

“Let him go,” Luca growled, a demonic rage vibrating in his chest. “If you hurt that boy, Marco, there isn’t a hole deep enough on this earth for you to hide in.”

Marco laughed, stepping out from the barrel of Luca’s gun and moving behind the guard holding Leo.

“Drop the weapon, Boss,” Marco commanded. “Or the kid catches a bullet right here on your expensive rug.”

“No!” Vanessa screamed, climbing to her feet. “Marco, you promised! You said nobody would get hurt! You said we were just taking the money and leaving!”

Marco backhanded her.

The sound cracked like a whip. Vanessa spun hard, crashing into the heavy mahogany dining table and collapsing to the floor with a bloody lip.

“Shut up, Vanessa,” Marco spat. “You’re just the distraction. You really thought I was going to split millions of dollars with a bankrupt socialite who cries when she breaks a nail?”

Vanessa stared at him in horror. “You… you used me.”

“You opened the safes,” Marco smirked. “I just took the contents. Now, Luca. The gun. On the floor.”

Luca stared at Leo’s terrified face.

Slowly, deliberately, Luca lowered his weapon. He dropped it onto the hardwood floor. It clattered loudly.

“Kick it over here,” Marco ordered.

Luca kicked it. The gun slid across the room, stopping at Marco’s feet.

“Good boy,” Marco smiled.

Marco pulled his own weapon, a heavy silver revolver, and pointed it at Luca’s chest.

“Here’s how this goes,” Marco announced. “We are going to walk out the front door. We are taking your Mercedes. And we are taking the kid as insurance until we clear the city limits.”

“Take me,” Luca demanded instantly. “Leave the boy. Take me as your hostage.”

“You’re too dangerous, Boss,” Marco shook his head. “The kid is compliant.”

I was standing near the serving buffet, frozen in terror. My mind raced.

My mother used to say that when a man holds all the cards, you don’t play his game. You flip the table.

I looked down at the buffet table.

Sitting right next to my hand was the massive, ornate silver serving tray used for carrying the main courses.

It wasn’t EPNS plate.

It was solid, heavy sterling silver. It weighed almost fifteen pounds.

Marco wasn’t looking at me. He was focused entirely on Luca, savoring his victory over the untouchable mafia king.

The guard holding Leo was looking at the door, securing their exit.

“Let’s move,” Marco commanded.

I didn’t think. I just acted.

I grabbed the heavy silver tray with both hands, lifted it high above my head, and slammed it down onto the crystal glassware sitting on the edge of the buffet.

The noise was deafening.

It sounded like a bomb going off. Crystal shattered, wood splintered, and the heavy silver rang like a church bell.

Marco flinched violently, instinctively turning his gun toward the sudden explosion of noise.

The guard holding Leo jerked his head toward me.

That single second of distraction was all Luca needed.

Luca lunged forward with terrifying speed. He didn’t go for Marco. He went for the guard holding his nephew.

Luca’s fist connected with the guard’s throat. A sickening crunch echoed in the room. The guard dropped Leo and collapsed, gasping for air.

Luca snatched Leo off the floor and threw him behind the heavy oak dining table.

“Emma! Cover him!” Luca roared.

I scrambled under the table, wrapping my body tightly around Leo, shielding him with my back.

Gunfire erupted.

Bang! Bang!

The sound tore through the dining room, deafening in the enclosed space. Plaster rained down from the ceiling.

I closed my eyes, praying the bullets wouldn’t pierce the thick wood of the table.

I heard a heavy thud. Then a groan.

Then, silence.

Absolute, ringing silence.

“It’s over,” a voice said quietly.

I slowly opened my eyes.

I peeked out from under the table.

The second guard was unconscious on the floor.

Marco was on his knees, clutching his shoulder. Blood poured through his fingers, staining his pristine white shirt. His silver revolver lay on the floor ten feet away.

Luca was standing over him.

He had retrieved his 9mm. He was aiming it directly at the space between Marco’s eyes.

Luca was breathing heavily, his white shirt torn, his knuckles bloody. But he was unhurt.

“You missed,” Marco choked out, blood bubbling on his lips.

“I didn’t miss,” Luca said coldly. “I hit you exactly where I wanted to. You bleed out in ten minutes. Just long enough for you to answer my questions.”

Luca stepped closer, pressing the hot barrel of the gun against Marco’s forehead.

“Where is my mother’s rosary?”

Marco laughed, a wet, rattling sound.

“It’s gone, Boss. Sold it to Southside yesterday. They already melted it down for the platinum.”

Luca’s face contorted in agony.

But from under the table, I spoke up.