Chapter 5 - Blood on the Pine
Gus stepped into the entryway, drawing a suppressed nine-millimeter pistol from beneath his coat. His eyes swept the room, landing instantly on Roman sitting wrapped in blankets near the hearth.
"Well, well, well," Gus sneered, a dark, vicious smile spreading across his scarred face. "The great Roman Falconee. Hiding in a shack like a beaten dog."
"Hello, Gus," Roman said smoothly from the floor.
Gus raised his pistol, aiming directly at Roman’s head. "Vincent sends his regards, Boss. He said to tell you that Albany looks much better from your chair."
Before Gus could pull the trigger, Roman acted.
"BEAR! TAKE HIM!" Roman roared!
The hundred-and-forty-pound Neapolitan mastiff launched himself from the shadows like a cannonball!
Bear’s massive jaws clamped onto Gus’s gun wrist with bone-crushing force! Gus let out a bloody scream as the heavy dog slammed into his chest, knocking him backward out through the shattered doorway onto the icy porch!
The suppressed pistol fired wildly into the air—THWIP! THWIP!—before clattering uselessly onto the snow.
Gus’s partner outside pulled his own weapon, aiming at Bear!
"MARA! NOW!" Roman shouted!
Mara didn't think. She acted on pure adrenaline. She reached up to the counter, grabbed the heavy cast-iron skillet sitting on the stove, and swung it with all her body weight into the second gunman's face as he tried to step over the threshold!
CLANG!
The heavy iron pan smashed into the gunman's jaw with sickening force. He went instantly limp, collapsing backward off the porch into the deep snowbank below.
On the porch, Gus was screaming, tearing at Bear’s neck with his free hand, but the massive dog held on with terrifying tenacity, shaking his heavy head back and forth, shattering the bones in Gus’s arm.
Roman pulled his own pistol from beneath his blanket. He leaned forward, aiming through the open door with icy precision.
BANG!
A single shot rang out through the silent forest.
Gus went still.
The dog released his grip, stepping back and letting out a heavy, ragged pant as he looked back at Roman.
Silence descended over the snow-covered valley once more.
Mara stood in the doorway, the heavy cast-iron skillet hanging from her trembling hand, her chest heaving as she stared at the two unmoving bodies on her porch.
The snow was stained a deep, brilliant crimson.
Mara backed away slowly, dropping the skillet onto the floorboards. She looked at her hands, then at Roman, who sat near the hearth, his gun lowered, his breathing calm and controlled.
"They... they know," Mara whispered, her voice cracking. "They know you're here."
Roman looked at the two dead men, then back at Mara. The reality of what had just happened was absolute. The thin line between her peaceful, quiet world and his dark, violent empire had been erased forever.
"The second gunman has a radio on his vest," Roman said quietly. "If he doesn't check in within fifteen minutes... Vincent will send ten more men."
Mara sank onto her knees beside the table, burying her face in her hands. "My house... my life... it's over."
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Roman looked at the woman who had saved his life, who had just fought like a lioness to protect her home. Something inside his hardened, cynical heart cracked open—a feeling he hadn't experienced since his brother Luca had died.
"No, Mara," Roman said softly, his voice filled with a deep, unshakeable promise. "Your life isn't over. I am going to give you everything they took from you. But first... we have to finish this."
