Chapter 2 - The Sanctum of Flour and Grease
It took every ounce of Clara’s strength to drag Enzo’s massive six-foot-three frame through the heavy metal back door of the diner. He was dead weight, his boots scraping against the linoleum as they pulled him into the small, dark dry-storage room behind the kitchen. The smell of stored sacks of flour, canned tomatoes, and old cardboard immediately replaced the wet iron scent of the alley.
Clara slammed the heavy metal door shut and threw the deadbolt. Outside, the sound of car doors slamming echoed through the rain, followed by the heavy, deliberate footsteps of men searching the dumpsters.
“Lily, go to the front counter. Keep the lights off and stay under the booth,” Clara whispered, her lungs burning as she knelt beside Enzo on the concrete floor.
The little girl nodded bravely, clutching her yellow duck umbrella tightly before slipping through the swinging doors into the main diner.
Clara ripped open Enzo’s expensive white shirt, gasping softly at the sight of the wound. The bullet had torn through his right side, just beneath the ribs. Blood was pumping in rhythmic, terrifying spurts. She reached for a clean apron from a shelf, folding it into a thick pad, and pressed it down onto the wound with all her weight.
Enzo groaned, a deep, guttural sound of agony that vibrated through the small room. His hand shot out, his fingers locking onto her wrist like an iron vise. Even in his weakened state, his grip was terrifyingly strong.
“Don’t... don't call the police,” he gasped, his forehead beaded with cold sweat, his gray eyes locking onto hers with desperate intensity. “The cops... they work for Luca now. You call them, we all die.”
Clara looked down at him, her wrist aching under his grip. “I don’t care about your mob war, mister. You’re going to bleed to death on my floor.”
“I have money,” Enzo managed to say, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as the sound of footsteps approached the back door from the outside. Rattle. Rattle. Someone was testing the lock.
Clara held her breath, her hand still pressing down on his bleeding side. She looked at the door, then back at Enzo. His grip on her wrist loosened as his consciousness began to slip away again, but his eyes remained fixed on hers, pleading not for his life, but for the silence that would protect the child in the other room.
May you like
The footsteps outside paused for a long, agonizing ten seconds before finally moving away down the alley.
Clara let out a shaky breath. She looked at the giant man passing out on her floor. “My name is Clara,” she whispered to his unconscious form. “And you’re going to owe me a lot more than money if we survive this night.”
