Chapter 6 - Fire and SteelThe gunman’s finger tightened on the trigger. The pressure of the rifle barrel against my forehead felt like a burning iron brand.
Click.
Before the firing pin could strike, the heavy wooden door of the storage room behind the counter blew off its hinges with a deafening crash.
A figure lunged out of the darkness like a wounded wolf.
Dante Moretti, stripped to his undershirt, his left shoulder wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, slammed into the lead assassin with the force of a freight train. The heavy combat rifle discharged harmlessly into the acoustic ceiling, raining fiberglass and dust down onto the floor.
The two men tumbled over the pastry case, shattering the glass into a thousand glittering shards.
The other two mercenaries spun around, raising their weapons toward Moretti and me.
"Drop your guns!" I screamed, instincts overriding fear. I grabbed the heavy, cast-iron skillet resting on the grill behind me and hurled it across the room with every ounce of strength I had.
The skillet caught the second gunman squarely in the side of the helmet, spinning him around and causing his burst of automatic fire to shred the diner's front windows instead of my chest.
Moretti, despite his severe blood loss, had already pinned the lead assassin to the floor, driving his good fist repeatedly into the man's jaw until the mercenary went limp. He rolled off the unconscious man, grabbed the dropped rifle, and pivoted toward the third attacker.
Bang. Bang.
Two deafening gunshots echoed through the small diner, blowing out the remaining front windows and sending the third mercenary crashing through the shattered glass into the pouring rain outside.
Silence descended upon the diner once more, broken only by the hiss of steam leaking from the espresso machine and Moretti’s ragged, hacking breaths.
I stood there, trembling from head to toe, still holding the handle of the broken coffee mug, staring at the absolute war zone my diner had become.
Moretti dropped the rifle, his knees buckling. He caught himself against the edge of the smashed pastry case, a fresh stream of blood leaking through his bandages. He looked up at me, his eyes dark, wild, and strangely admiring.
"Remind me," Moretti wheezed, wiping blood from his chin, "never to get on your bad side, Elena."
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"You... you just destroyed my entire restaurant," I whispered, my voice shaking as I looked at the broken glass, the bullet-riddled walls, and the shattered front windows. "My landlord is going to evict me before the sun even comes up!"
"Let him," Moretti said, flashing a bloody, crooked grin. "I own the building anyway."
