Page 108 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
“Dante—” I start to warn him, but he is already reacting, shoving me behind a stone pillar. I hit it hard, my back slamming against cold rock.
Viktor raises his hand in a snap sign, and the cathedral explodes.
Gunfire erupts everywhere. From above, from the sides, from behind pews I didn’t even know were hiding people. The noise is so loud, I can feel my ears vibrating.
Bullets tear through the space where I was standing half a second ago. Stone chips rain down on my head. Dust fills my lungs. My ears are ringing so loud I can barely think.
I press myself flat against the pillar and try to find Luca with my eyes through the chaos. There’s smoke and muzzle flash and bodies falling and blood spreading across the floor, and I can’t see him. I can’t see my son.
“Luca!” I scream his name, but my voice disappears into the roar of gunfire.
Dante is crouched beside me, returning fire at the balcony with equal fervor. There’s blood on his face. I don’t know if it’s his.
“Stay down!” he shouts over the noise. “Marco’s coming through the catacombs!”
I want to believe and trust that somewhere beneath us, Marco and his men are fighting their way toward my child. But all I can see is death and all I can hear is screaming, and somewhere in this nightmare my five-year-old son is watching people die.
Viktor planned this. He knew exactly how we’d come in, exactly where to position his shooters, exactly how to turn this church into a killing ground.
Now my baby is caught in the crossfire.
The thought cuts through the panic like a blade. Luca is here and he needs me. I didn’t walk into this hellhole to hide behind a pillar while my son is terrified and alone.
I grip my gun tighter, feeling the weight of it in my shaking hands. Dante taught me how to use this. Taught me to aim and breathe and squeeze the trigger instead of pulling. I practiced until my arms ached and my ears rang and I could hit a target more often than I missed.
Now I’m going to find out if any of that matters.
I peek around the edge of the pillar, searching desperately for Luca through the smoke and chaos.
I’m coming, baby. Mama’s coming.
Just hold on.
29
DANTE
I knew Viktor would be prepared. What I didn’t expect was the immediacy of the attack. Then again, you can never be too sure with a bastard. Twenty years of violence has made my response to situations like this impulsive. Right now, that is the only reason we’re still alive.
I’m moving before the sound fully registers, shoving Scarlett behind a stone pillar as bullets rip through the wooden pews where we stood half a second ago. Splinters explode into the air, one slicing across my cheek, but the sting barely stays. I’m already in combat mode—gun raised, eyes sweeping the room, mind cataloging threats faster than conscious thought can keep up.
Three shooters in the left balcony and two more in the right. At least four more behind the overturned pews near the side chapel. And those are just the ones I can see through the smoke and muzzle flash.
I’d hoped Viktor wouldn’t come this prepared. This isn’t some desperate last stand by a cornered traitor. This is an ambushdesigned by someone who spent fifteen years learning exactly how I think and fight. He knows almost all my ins and outs. But I also planned backup strategies for this outcome, too.
At least twenty men, all well-armed twice as usual. I should have checked better before we entered, but I got distracted by the idea of finding my son. At least I have other teams coming in from other directions, and we should have this sorted soon.
My team returns fire with the disciplined expertise I drilled into them over years of training and combat. The thunderous gunshots echo off the vaulted ceiling, making the whole cathedral shake with the force of it. Dust rains down from above. The stained glass shatters under the violence.
I press the comm unit in my ear. “Alpha team, concentrate fire on the balconies. Bravo, push the left flank. Charlie, status?”
Static crackles filter back, then a voice I don’t recognize. “Charlie’s pinned near the main entrance. Two down, four still fighting.”
“Hold position and keep them off our backs.”
I lean around the pillar and squeeze off three shots at a figure moving in the left balcony. The first two spark off the iron railing, but the third catches him on the right. He jerks backward, rifle slipping from his hands, then he’s falling. His body hits the stone floor below with a wet thud that I’ve heard too many times, marking his end.
My snipers are earning their pay and making me proud. Through the chaos, I see another balcony shooter drop, a neat hole appearing in his forehead before he crumples out of sight. That’s two down up there. Still too many left, but we’re not backing down.
