Chapter 8 - The Five BodyguardsThree men stepped through the shattered doorway in a synchronized blur of tactical gear and drawn submachine guns. But they weren't Carmela’s guards. Their black flak jackets bore the insignia of a rattlesnake coiled around a dagger—the crest of the rival Moretti syndicate.
“Well, well,” a cold, smooth voice drawled as a tall, impeccably dressed man stepped past the gunmen. Lorenzo Moretti. “Mother Superior thought she could hide out in a greasy-spoon diner and play hide-and-seek with a penniless waitress.”
Lorenzo’s eyes flicked over Mina with casual contempt, then locked onto Carmela.
Carmela didn't flinch. She slowly set her teacup down on the mahogany table, her posture straight as steel.
“You always did have terrible manners, Lorenzo. Breaking into a lady’s parlor uninvited.”
“Times change, Carmela. The old guard is retired. Permanently.” Lorenzo drew a sleek silver pistol from his holster, leveling it squarely at Carmela’s chest. “And your little pet waitress here? She’s about to learn how expensive curiosity is.”
Lorenzo raised the barrel, shifting his aim toward Mina.
Mina’s blood ran cold. Her feet felt glued to the Persian rug.
This is it, she thought. This is how it ends.
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Then, the lights in the Victorian mansion flickered and died. Total, pitch-black darkness swallowed the room.
Bang!
