Chapter 20 - The Shattered Glass
The following Friday night, a bitter, premature winter chill rolled across the city. The rain had turned into sleet, tapping like millions of icy fingernails against the plate glass windows of Bellanote.
It was nine-thirty. The diner was nearly empty. Tony had gone home early to nurse a bad case of sciatica, leaving Maya to finish closing up the register and mop the floors.
Maya had just emptied the mop bucket into the service sink when her cell phone vibrated violently against the stainless-steel preparation table.
She picked it up. It was a restricted number.
"Hello?" Maya answered.
"Maya."
It was Dante. But his voice wasn't the calm, commanding baritone she had grown accustomed to. It was ragged, breathy, and accompanied by the distant, deafening screech of screaming tires and the rhythmic, terrifying *crack-crack-crack* of automatic gunfire.
Maya froze, every muscle in her body locking in place. "Dante? What is that?"
"They hit the convoy," Dante barked, his voice distorted by wind and static. "The FDR Drive. Near 23rd Street. Two trucks boxed Lorenzo’s car. They have heavy weapons."
"Where is Sofia?" Maya screamed, dropping the rag to the floor, her heart violently slamming against her ribs.
"She’s with me," Dante gasped. Maya heard the sound of glass shattering violently through the speaker, followed by a grunt of intense pain from the man. "Our vehicle is disabled on the northbound ramp. I took out three of them, but they’re closing in. They know she’s in the car."
"Dante, call the police! Call your men!"
"The police are in Marcone’s pocket on this sector," Dante spat, his breath wheezing as though his ribs were crushed. "My tactical team is stuck at the Brooklyn bridge. Listen to me, Maya! Listen to me carefully!"
"I'm listening!" tears welled in Maya’s eyes, blind panic flooding her veins.
"Sofia won't move," Dante whispered, and for the first time, Maya heard absolute, unadulterated terror in the crime lord's voice. "She saw the blood. She saw my shoulder. She has locked up again. She won't run. If I carry her into the open, they will cut us down from the overpass."
"Put her on the phone," Maya demanded instantly, her voice cutting through the panic with fierce, desperate authority. "Dante! Put her on the speaker right now!"
There was a second of rustling static, followed by the deafening sound of a shotgun blast tearing through metal nearby.
Then, a tiny, ragged, hyperventilating sob came through the speaker.
"Sofia!" Maya shouted into the phone, clutching the device so hard her knuckles turned white. "Sofia, listen to Maya’s voice! Look at me in your mind! Remember the purple cat? Remember Bob the caterpillar?"
The tiny whimpering stopped for half a second.
"Purple..." the child’s voice cracked through the phone, small and drowning in horror.
"Yes, baby! Purple!" Maya cried, tears spilling freely down her face as she reached blindly into her pocket, finding the cold steel card Dante had given her weeks ago. "You have to run with Daddy! You have to run to the tunnel! Sofia, do you hear me? RUN WITH DADDY!"
A massive explosion roared through the phone line—a sound so concussive that the audio cut out completely into a high-pitched digital whine.
"Dante?!" Maya screamed into the dead phone. "Dante! Sofia!"
Nothing. Only static.
Then, the heavy glass front door of Bellanote Diner exploded inward in a shower of glittering, razor-sharp shards.
May you like
Two men in black tactical balaclavas burst through the ruined doorway, their automatic submachine guns sweeping the empty booths. Before Maya could even scream, the barrel of a cold, black rifle was pressed firmly against the center of her forehead.
"Maya Bennett," a muffled, gravelly voice said from behind the mask. "Marcone says it's time for breakfast."
