Chapter 3 - The Siege at Sullivan's
The sound of exploding glass ripped through the quiet morning like a bomb.
CRASH!
"DOWN!" Dominic roared.
Despite his severe gunshot wound, Dominic moved with terrifying speed. He grabbed Clara by the waist and tackled her to the linoleum floor of the office just as a hail of high-caliber automatic gunfire tore through the drywall, shredding the office door, pulverizing the wooden filing cabinets, and showering them in paper, plaster, and splinters.
The twins began to scream in terror from their bread crate.
Dominic stayed flattened over Clara, using his massive body as a shield. plaster dust rained down on them, turning his dark hair gray.
"They tracked your burner phone!" Clara gasped, her hands covering her ears against the deafening roar of the rifles.
"No," Dominic snarled through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with rage. "Valenti has cell tower interception tech. They pinged the signal the second I made the call!"
The gunfire abruptly stopped, replaced by the harsh sound of heavy boots crunching over shattered glass in the main dining area.
"DOMINIC!" a loud, arrogant voice echoed through the ruined diner. "Come out, boss! You're bleeding out, you're out of men, and you're hiding behind a fried-egg cook! End this cleanly, and I'll make sure the babies go to a good orphanage!"
Dominic reached up, grabbed the 9mm pistol off the desk, and checked the magazine. "Twelve rounds," he muttered to himself. "Four shooters inside. Two outside."
"How do you know that?" Clara whispered, her body trembling violently against his chest.
"I've been in this business for twenty years, sweetheart," Dominic whispered back, his breath warm against her ear. "Listen to me very carefully. The moment I open fire, you grab the babies, crawl through the low pantry duct in the back corner, and get out to the alley. Don't look back. Don't stop."
Clara grabbed his blood-stained shirt. "What about you? You can't fight four armed men alone! You can barely stand!"
Dominic looked down at her. His thumb reached out, brushing a smudge of plaster dust from her cheek with an extraordinary, startling gentleness.
"My life ended six weeks ago when my wife died, Clara," Dominic said softly. "The only reason I'm breathing is to keep those kids alive. If I die here taking Valenti's men with me, it's a good trade. Now get ready."
"No," Clara said.
Dominic blinked. "What?"
"I'm not leaving you to die," Clara hissed, her brown eyes flashing with sudden, dangerous resolve. "This is my diner. I know every inch of this building, I know where the grease traps are, and I know how to use an industrial kitchen."
Before Dominic could stop her, Clara slipped out from beneath him, crouching low under the destroyed office window.
"Clara, stop!" Dominic growled, reaching for her, but a fresh wave of agony shot through his side, forcing him back to his knees.
Outside the office, four men in tactical vests were fanning out across the counter area, their assault rifles raised, sweeping the shadowy corners of the kitchen.
Clara crawled along the floor behind the prep line, reaching the main gas line manifold beneath the commercial cooking equipment.
She took a deep breath, grabbed the heavy red iron valve handle, and yanked it open completely.
A loud, furious hissing filled the kitchen as highly pressurized natural gas poured out of eight unlit burners, filling the tight, enclosed kitchen area with a suffocating, flammable cloud.
"What's that smell?" one of the gunmen barked, stopping near the deep fryers. "Gas! He opened the gas line!"
"Kill them now!" Marcus Valenti’s voice roared from the dining room.
Clara reached into her apron pocket, pulled out the long-stemmed chef's butane lighter she used for lighting the grill, and looked across the kitchen at Dominic, who was watching her through the shattered office wall with wide, horrified eyes.
"DOMINIC! COVER!" Clara screamed.
She struck the lighter.
CLICK.
A tiny blue flame sparked.
BOOM!
A blinding wall of yellow fire ignited in mid-air, a localized gas explosion that ripped through the kitchen with a concussive shockwave! The blast tore through the hanging pots and pans, blew the microwave off its shelf, and sent three of the armed hitmen flying backward into the dining room booths, their clothes catching fire as they screamed in agony.
The force of the explosion knocked Clara off her feet, sending her tumbling against the stainless-steel ice machine.
Through the roaring flames and thick black smoke, Dominic emerged like a demon rising from hell.
Ignoring the excruciating pain in his side, Dominic walked into the burning kitchen, his 9mm raised.
THWIP. THWIP. THWIP.
He fired three cold, precise double-taps through the smoke. The three burning hitmen instantly went limp on the linoleum floor.
Dominic swept round the corner of the prep counter, aiming for Marcus Valenti—but the main dining area was empty. A rear car door slammed shut outside, and an SUV accelerated wildly away into the fog, abandoning his dead men in the burning diner.
Dominic lowered his gun. The room was filling with thick, choking smoke as the ceiling tiles caught fire.
He rushed over to the ice machine, scooping Clara up into his arms. She was coughing violently, covered in soot, but completely unharmed.
"You're completely insane," Dominic rasped, a mix of sheer disbelief and fierce admiration burning in his eyes as he looked down at her. "You blew up your own diner!"
"It was... insured anyway," Clara wheezed, managing a faint, breathless smile through the soot on her face.
Dominic didn't lose another second. He carried Clara back into the ruined office, scooped up the bread crate containing the two wide-eyed, miraculously unhurt babies, and kicked open the rear fire door just as three heavy armored black Suburbans tore into the alleyway, tires screeching to a halt.
The doors opened, and a dozen heavily armed men dressed in dark tactical gear flooded out, led by a tall, gray-haired man with a scarred face.
"DOMINIC!" the scarred man shouted, lowering his weapon. "It's Gabriel! We have the perimeter secured!"
Dominic stepped out into the rainy alley, holding Clara with one arm and his children with the other, as flames began to lick through the roof of Sullivan's Diner.
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He looked down at Clara, his voice dropping into a low, unbreakable vow.
"The diner is gone, Clara," Dominic said softly as his security team closed in around them. "And your old life is over. From this second on, you belong to me. And nobody touches what's mine."
