Chapter 2 - Crimson Silk and Gunfire
The cold night air rushed into the hall, blowing out the two birthday candles on my cake in an instant.
Three men in dark leather jackets and tactical vests stepped past the threshold. They were broad-shouldered, ruthless-looking, and held suppressed pistols lowered discreetly at their sides.
Mrs. Higgins gasped, dropping her paper cup. Mr. Gable stood up, his hands trembling. "Excuse me! This is church property—"
"Sit down, old man," the lead gunman growled without looking at him. His eyes were locked onto Stefano's back. "Stefano Rossi. Don Salvatore said you might take the bait."
Stefano didn't panic. He didn't even turn around right away. He calmly picked up his fork, took a small bite of the chocolate cake, and chewed slowly.
"You're sloppy, Joey," Stefano murmured, his voice deadly calm. "You brought three men to a parish hall. You left two drivers outside with their engines idling. The noise woke up the neighborhood dogs three minutes ago."
"Don Salvatore wants the girl," Joey spat, raising his weapon. "And he wants your head on a platter for hiding her for twenty-five years."
"Elena," Stefano said softly, his back still turned to the gunmen.
"Y-yes?" I squeaked, my entire body shaking inside my mother's red silk dress.
"When I tell you to drop, get under the table and cover your ears."
"Stefano, please—"
"Drop."
In a fraction of a second, Stefano moved. He grabbed the heavy wooden folding table and flipped it sideways with unbelievable power. The cake, plates, and coffee cups crashed onto the floor as the thick oak slab formed a barricade between us and the entrance.
The muffled pop-pop-pop of suppressed gunfire tore through the room. Wood splinters flew into the air, shredding the linen tablecloth.
I hit the floor, covering my head as screams erupted from Mrs. Higgins and Mr. Gable.
Stefano didn't stay behind the table. He ducked under the first hail of bullets, closing the distance between himself and the gunmen with terrifying, predator-like speed. He grabbed Joey's wrist, twisting it upward until the bone snapped with a sickening crack.
Before the second gunman could adjust his aim, Stefano drove a heavy elbow into his throat, dropping him to the floor, coughing violently for air. The third man swung his pistol toward Stefano's head, but Stefano swept his leg out, sending the attacker crashing headfirst into a row of metal folding chairs.
The entire fight lasted less than eight seconds.
Silence returned to the parish hall, broken only by the heavy, ragged breathing of the three bleeding men on the linoleum floor.
Stefano stood over them, adjusting his cufflinks. He reached into his coat, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped a speck of blood off his leather shoe.
He turned back to me. His eyes scanned my red dress, ensuring no stray splinters had torn the fabric.
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"Your mother always wore red when she knew a fight was coming," Stefano said, offering me his hand. "It hides the blood. Now, Elena... get your coat. My father knows you're alive, and St. Bridget's is no longer safe."
