Chapter 2 - The Crimson Bakery
The gunshot didn't come from Silvio's weapon.
A deafening roar shattered the ballroom air as Marco fired first, hitting Silvio squarely in the shoulder. Silvio stumbled backward with a curse, his gun discharging wildly into the ceiling, shattering a massive crystal chandelier. Shards of glass rained down like lethal snow, crashing onto the empty tables and slicing through the air.
"Get down!" Marco roared, moving to position himself as a human shield in front of Matteo.
Elena didn't think. Survival instinct, honed by years of protecting her son through the harshest winters of her life, took over. She grabbed Leo by the collar of his raincoat and dove beneath the massive, heavy oak head table just as a volley of automatic gunfire ripped through the room.
The silver vases shattered. The white roses were shredded into confetti. The pink bakery box was torn to pieces by a stray bullet, scattering chocolate cake across the white linens.
From beneath the tablecloth, Elena watched in absolute terror as Marco exchanged fire with the remaining two enforcers. The noise was blinding. Leo was sobbing into her shoulder, his little hands gripping her coat so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Marco! The side exit!" Matteo’s voice cut through the chaos, remarkably steady despite the hell breaking loose around him.
Matteo’s wheelchair was a high-tech, reinforced model, but it was still a target. Marco managed to drop a second gunman with a shot to the neck, but a bullet caught Marco in the thigh. He stumbled, groaning as blood began to soak through his trousers.
"Elena!" Matteo shouted, looking down beneath the table. "If you want your boy to live, you need to move now! Push me toward the service doors behind the stage!"
Elena looked at her son, then at the blood pooling on the marble floor just inches away. She couldn't let her child die here. With a burst of adrenaline she didn't know she possessed, she scrambled out from under the table, pulling Leo with her.
She grabbed the handles of Matteo’s heavy wheelchair. "Where?" she screamed over the gunfire.
"Behind the velvet curtains! There's a freight elevator!" Matteo commanded.
Elena pushed with all her might. The chair was heavy, but the terror driving her gave her supernatural strength. Marco provided covering fire, limping backward, his face pale from blood loss. Silvio was back on his feet, clutching his bleeding shoulder, screaming orders into a walkie-talkie. "They're moving to the back! Block the exits!"
They burst through the heavy velvet curtains into the dark, utilitarian service hallway. Marco slammed the heavy metal security door shut, throwing the deadbolt just as a hail of bullets impacted the other side.
"The elevator is dead," Marco panted, leaning against the wall, his forehead covered in sweat. "Luca’s tech guys must have cut the power to the building’s grid."
"We take the loading ramp," Matteo said, his eyes scanning the dark corridor. He looked at Elena. "Where is your vehicle parked?"
"The delivery van... it's by the loading dock," she gasped, her breath coming in ragged shallow gasps. "An old white Ford."
"Give Marco the keys," Matteo ordered.
They rushed down the concrete ramp. Marco was fading fast, his limp growing heavier with every step. When they reached the loading dock, the cool night air hit them, along with the distant sound of sirens—though Matteo knew the police would take their sweet time arriving.
Marco unlocked the van and shoved Matteo’s chair up the rear ramp, locking it into place in the cargo hold. Elena scrambled in with Leo, pulling the doors shut just as headlights swung into the alleyway.
"Drive!" Matteo barked.
Marco slammed his foot on the gas. The old delivery van groaned, its engine roaring to life as it screeched out of the alley, narrowly missing a black SUV that tried to block their path. Bullets pinged against the van’s rear doors, but the metal held.
Within minutes, they were lost in the maze of the city's industrial district.
Inside the dark van, the silence returned, punctuated only by Leo’s soft whimpering and Marco’s heavy, labored breathing.
"We can't go to any of my safehouses," Matteo said, breaking the silence. His voice was grim. "If Luca knew about the ballroom, he knows about the penthouses, the villas, and the warehouses. He’s purged my inner circle."
"Where do we go?" Marco muttered, his hands shaking on the steering wheel as he checked the rearview mirror. "I need to patch this leg, boss. I’m losing too much blood."
Elena looked at her son, then at the paralyzed man who, despite losing his entire empire tonight, still looked like a king in the dark.
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"My bakery," Elena whispered, her voice trembling. "It’s on 4th Street. It’s small, it’s hidden, and nobody in your world knows it exists."
Matteo looked at her, his sharp eyes softening just a fraction. "A bakery. From a palace to a bakery in one night." He nodded. "Take us there, Marco."
