Chapter 2 - THE SHADOW OF PALERMO
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sharp, deafening cracks of automatic gunfire filled the air. Screams erupted from the remaining diners as glass, wood, and plaster rained down around us.
Before I could even register the terror, Matteo lunged forward. His large frame completely covered me and Leo as he tackled us to the hardwood floor behind the thick oak bar. The weight of his body pressed down on mine, his broad shoulders forming an impenetrable shield.
"Bruno! Suppress them!" Matteo roared over the gunfire, drawing a matte-black firearm from beneath his jacket with terrifying speed.
Leo woke up, shrieking in terror as the noise vibrated through the floor. I held the baby tightly beneath me, covering his tiny ears with my hands, whispering frantically, "I've got you, baby, I've got you, you're safe..."
Matteo glanced down at me for a fraction of a second. Seeing me instinctively shielding his son, a look of profound, primal fierce devotion flickered in his eyes. He leaned over the bar, firing three precise shots into the street. The sound of a car engine screeching and a body hitting the pavement echoed outside.
"It’s the Moretti crew!" Bruno yelled, crouching behind a overturned marble table, returning fire. "They tracked your vehicle!"
"They picked a bad night to die," Matteo growled. He popped a fresh magazine into his weapon with a slick clack.
He turned back to me, his face inches from mine in the cramped, alcohol-scented space behind the bar. "Hold him tight, Mara. We move on three."
"I can't go into a gunfight!" I cried, tears blinding my eyes. "I'm a waitress!"
"You're under my protection now," Matteo said, his dark eyes burning with absolute conviction. "Which means no one in this city touches a hair on your head. One... two... three!"
Matteo grabbed my elbow, hauling me to my feet while keeping his body between me and the shattered entrance. Bruno and two other guards formed a tactical wedge around us, laying down heavy cover fire as we rushed out the back door into the narrow, rain-drenched alleyway.
A sleek, black armored SUV was idling in the alley, its doors already thrown open by an armed driver.
Matteo shoved me into the back seat, diving in right after me and slamming the heavy door shut. A split second later, bullets pinged harmlessly off the reinforced bulletproof glass like heavy hail.
The SUV accelerated wildly out of the alley, throwing me back into the plush leather seats. I clutched Leo to my chest, my whole body shaking uncontrollably as the baby sobbed into my shoulder.
"Ssh, quiet now, little prince," I sobbed softly, rocking him back and forth. "It's okay... the bad noises are gone..."
Miraculously, as soon as my voice reached his ears, Leo's frantic cries softened into tiny, hiccups. He buried his small face into the crook of my neck, his tiny hand clinging onto my collar with a vice-like grip.
Matteo sat across from me, breathing heavily, holstering his weapon. He looked at his son, then at me, the adrenaline of the firefight slowly receding to reveal a deep, brooding contemplation.
"You didn't run," Matteo observed quietly, wiping a smear of glass dust from his cheek.
"You tackled me to the ground!" I shouted, wiping tears from my face with my free hand. "I didn't have much of a choice! Who were those people?! Why were they shooting at us?!"
"Enemies of my family," Matteo answered flatly. "People who believe that killing me will grant them control of the East Coast ports."
"And what does any of this have to do with me?!" I demanded, my voice cracking. "I work forty hours a week, I live in a tiny studio in Queens, and I've never broken a law in my life! Why did my face make you stop? Why did my mother warn me about your tattoo?!"
Matteo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding intensity.
"Because twenty-four years ago, the D’Angelo family had two branches," Matteo explained, his voice low and solemn. "My father ruled New York. His twin brother ruled Chicago. My uncle had a daughter—a girl who was hidden away after an internal war tore our family apart. A girl who was supposed to have died in a fire when she was three years old."
I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. "No... no, that's impossible. My mother was a nurse from Boston."
"Your mother was Sophia D’Angelo," Matteo countered smoothly. "The woman who fled Chicago with her daughter to protect her from the dragon syndicate. She raised you in hiding, didn't she? Never stayed in one city for more than two years? Always paid in cash? Taught you to avoid men with tattoos?"
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The world seemed to spin beneath me. Every memory of my childhood—the late-night apartment moves, the fake names, my mother’s constant paranoia—suddenly clicked into a terrifying, undeniable picture.
"You aren't just a girl who looks like my late wife, Mara," Matteo said softly, reaching out to gently touch Leo’s back as the baby finally fell back asleep against me. "You are my long-lost cousin. And the rightful heiress to half of everything I own."
