Chapter 8 - Blood and Snow
Lorenzo moved faster than humanly possible. He hit the lead gunman, snapping his wrist and taking the weapon in one fluid motion. Two suppressed shots coughed into the night, and two Moretti soldiers dropped to the snow.
“Get in the diner!” Lorenzo roared at Elena, turning to fire at the remaining men.
Elena scrambled backward, unlocking the heavy steel door. Glass shattered above her head as bullets tore through the alley. She fell inside, crawling behind the industrial kitchen counter. The gunfire outside was brief but deafening. Then, silence.
The back door kicked open. Elena screamed, grabbing a heavy cast-iron skillet.
Lorenzo stumbled inside. His coat was covered in snow, and his face was pale. He locked the heavy deadbolt behind him and slid down the door, leaving a thick smear of crimson blood on the white paint. He had taken a bullet to the stomach.
“Lorenzo!” Elena dropped the skillet and ran to him.
He coughed, his hand pressing against his side. He managed a weak smile. “I told you... I wouldn’t let them touch you.”
“You’re bleeding,” she panicked, ripping her apron off and pressing it against his wound. “I need to call an ambulance!”
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“No.” He grabbed her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “Marco is three minutes away. No local cops. They’ll just get killed.” He looked up at her, his eyes losing focus. “I’m sorry, El. I brought this to your door. I just... I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“Shut up,” she cried, pressing harder as the blood soaked her hands. “You don’t get to die to prove a point. Do you hear me?”
