Chapter 4 - The Strike on Opening Night
Monday evening arrived, bringing a crisp autumn breeze that swept yellow leaves across the pavement.
Elena’s Bistro was glowing with soft, warm light. White tablecloths, sparkling glass stemware, and the rich scent of garlic, seared steak, and fresh bread filled the air.
My mother looked breathtaking. She wore a simple, elegant dark green dress, her hair pinned back neatly, greeting guests with a genuine, glowing smile that I hadn't seen in years. The entire neighborhood had turned out to support her—local shopkeepers, old friends, and even several off-duty police officers who frequented the area.
I sat at my special booth near the back, wearing my favorite red hoodie over a nice white dress, coloring in a picture book with fresh crayons Dominic had brought me.
At 7:30 PM, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb outside.
Mr. Kane stepped out, dressed in an immaculate dark suit. When he walked through the front doors, the restaurant went momentarily quiet, but Mr. Kane simply nodded politely to the guests, carrying a small, beautifully wrapped gift box in his hands.
He walked straight over to my booth and placed the box on the table in front of me.
"For you, Rory," he said smoothly.
I eagerly untied the gold ribbon and pulled off the lid. Inside was a pair of brand-new, bright red leather sneakers with pristine white laces.
"No more untied shoelaces," Mr. Kane said, a rare, soft warmth in his voice.
"Thank you, Mr. Kane!" I giggled, instantly slipping off my old shoes to try on the new ones.
My mother came over, holding a glass of sparkling cider. "Mr. Kane, thank you for coming. We’ve already served forty tables tonight. It’s... it’s beyond anything I ever dreamed of."
"You earned this, Elena," Mr. Kane replied.
Suddenly, Dominic stepped up behind Mr. Kane, whispering urgently into his ear. "Boss. Two unmarked vans just pulled into the alley behind the kitchen. Camera feeds show six men carrying jerrycans."
The air in the room instantly shifted.
Mr. Kane didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He took a slow sip of his water, looking around at the innocent families eating dinner inside.
"How many men do we have in the perimeter, Dominic?" Mr. Kane asked quietly.
"Eight inside, twelve in the alley," Dominic replied, his hand resting casually inside his jacket.
"Keep the guests inside comfortable," Mr. Kane ordered smoothly. "Don't let a single drop of blood touch the dining room carpet. Handle it outside."
Outside in the dark alley, Julian Sterling stood beside Mario Moretti’s heavy-hitters. They were splashing gasoline against the wooden back doors of the kitchen, laughing quietly as they prepared to throw a flare.
"Burn it all," Sterling hissed, his eyes manic. "Let that waitress see her little dream turn to ash!"
"I wouldn't throw that match if I were you, Julian."
A voice echoed from the shadows of the alley.
Sterling spun around, dropping his lighter. Out from the darkness walked twelve towering men clad in heavy tactical coats, led by Dominic. Behind them, the alley entrances were blocked by three massive black SUVs, their headlights turning on all at once, blinding Sterling and his hired thugs.
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Moretti’s men reached for their weapons, but before they could draw, the metallic click of a dozen suppressed firearms echoed through the narrow alley.
"Drop the cans," Dominic commanded, his voice cold as marble. "Or this alley becomes your grave."
