Chapter 4 - The Barrel of a Colt
The black steel barrel of Dante’s pistol was less than three feet from Dora’s heart. The fluorescent lights caught the matte finish of the slide, casting a cold, metallic gleam across the laminate counter.
Dante’s finger rested lightly against the curved metal of the trigger, his knuckles white with tension. He was waiting for a twitch, a nod, a single syllable from Leonardo to end the waitress where she stood.
"Boss," Dante repeated, his voice straining with urgency. "She's a liability. Say the word and we clear the room."
Leonardo stood motionless. The pain from his torn arm was visibly draining the color from his face, leaving his skin a pale, ash-gray under the harsh neon lights. He looked down the barrel of Dante’s gun, then up at Dora’s fearless, exhausted face.
She stood there in her faded pink uniform, holding a pot of boiling coffee like a grenade, completely unimpressed by the armed men who commanded entire city blocks.
Suddenly, the corner of Leonardo’s mouth twitched.
Then, unexpectedly, he threw his head back and let out a sharp, genuine bark of laughter—a sound that quickly turned into a grimace of agony as the movement aggravated his torn muscle.
"Put it away, Dante," Leonardo wheezed, pressing his right hand against his ribs to steady himself.
Dante blinked, lowering the gun by a fraction of an inch. "Boss? She’s threatening—"
"I said, put it away!" Leonardo snapped, his voice carrying a flash of raw, unfiltered command. "Do you want to explain to the coroner why we shot a waitress over a pot of coffee while we're bleeding out in a New Jersey swamp? Put the damn gun away."
Dante glared at Dora for one long, murderous second before reluctantly sliding the pistol back into its holster beneath his leather jacket, the leather creaking in the quiet room.
May you like
Leonardo turned his attention back to Dora, a strange, twisted respect flashing in his dark eyes. He slowly raised his good right hand, palm open, in a gesture of temporary truce.
"Point made, sweetheart," Leonardo said, his voice softer now, though still laden with gravel. "Now... how about that coffee? And whatever you’ve got in the back that passes for a first-aid kit."
