Chapter 3 - Blood on the Dashboard
The heavy armored door of the black Escalade thudded shut, sealing us off from the howling wind and the flashing neon sign of the Golden Spoon.
Inside, the cabin smelled of expensive leather, cold rain, and the metallic, coppery reek of fresh blood. Damian collapsed heavily into the passenger seat, his head lolling back against the headrest, his breathing coming in ragged, shallow hitches. The makeshift stack of linen napkins Nora had wedged into his side was already soaked through, dark crimson bleeding down into the expensive weave of his trousers.
Nora slid behind the steering wheel, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her fingers hovered over the ignition button for a fraction of a second before she pushed it. The massive V8 engine roared to life with a low, intimidating growl, the dashboard coming alive with a soft amber glow of navigation maps and telemetry readouts.
"Where?" Nora demanded, her hands gripping the thick leather-wrapped steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. "Hospital? Police precinct?"
"No," Damian rasped, his eyes barely a slit. "If we hit a hospital, my brother Vincent's men will be waiting in the emergency bay before we park. And the local precinct... half the precinct captains on the East Side are on the Castellano payroll. We’d be walking into an execution chamber."
"Then where am I driving, Damian? Because you are losing blood by the cup, and I don't know how to perform field surgery with a butter knife!"
"Drive... north," he muttered, reaching with a shaking, blood-stained hand into the center console, pressing a hidden micro-switch. A small compartment popped open, revealing a heavy, encrypted satellite phone and a heavy gold signet ring. "Take the Henry Hudson Parkway. Exit 14. There’s a veterinary clinic behind a 24-hour car wash in Inwood. Ask for Leo."
Nora threw the Escalade into reverse, spinning the wheel with practiced strength. The heavy SUV vaulted backward out of the narrow alleyway, its tires spraying dirty slush and shattered glass across the curb before she slammed it into drive and rocketed up toward the highway.
The city blurred past in streaks of amber streetlights and gray rain.
Beside her, Damian’s head slumped sideways, his breathing growing dangerously shallow.
"Hey," Nora said, keeping her eyes fixed on the slick asphalt ahead while her hand darted across the console to shove his shoulder. "Hey! Stay with me, Castellano! You don't get to bleed out in my stolen car after ruining my diner shift!"
A weak, raspy chuckle escaped his throat. "You... you have a very aggressive bedside manner, Nora."
"I have zero patience for men who bleed on my upholstery," she fired back, though her voice shook. "Talk to me. Why did they try to kill you? You're the boss, aren't you?"
Damian let out a slow, painful breath, his fingers twitching against his thigh. "Being the boss... doesn't mean you're safe. It just means you have a bigger target painted on your back. My younger brother, Vincent... he’s been running the shipping docks for three years. He wanted to open the container lines to syndicates from Marseilles. I said no. Drugs move through the ports; I draw the line at human trafficking and importing fentanyl that poisons our own neighborhoods."
"So he decided to retire you," Nora said grimly.
"He called a family council," Damian whispered, his voice fading slightly. "I thought it was a negotiation over territory. It was an ambush. Three men in my own inner circle turned coat for Vincent's payout. They caught me in the townhouse garage. I took a round to the ribs, managed to steal a car, and drove until my vision went blurry and I saw a diner sign glowing in the rain."
"Why my diner?" Nora glanced sideways at him, watching the pale, drawn lines of his face. "Out of all the blocks in Manhattan, why the Golden Spoon?"
"Because..." Damian paused, swallowing hard as a fresh wave of pain wracked his frame. "Because it looked ordinary. And for the last ten years, ordinary is the only thing I've wanted to see."
They tore off the highway, navigating the dark, rain-slicked side streets of upper Manhattan with reckless abandon. The windshield wipers beat a frantic, rhythmic tattoo against the glass. Nora’s mind raced through the wreckage of her night. In less than an hour, she had gone from serving scrambled eggs to dodging bullets, shooting a hitman, and driving a dying mafia boss through a thunderstorm.
Her life as she knew it was incinerated. There was no going back to the diner, no punching the clock at midnight, no hiding in the quiet corners of anonymity.
They pulled hard into the back lot of a rundown 24-hour car wash in Inwood. Behind the flickering fluorescent sign of the wash bays stood a small, cinder-block building with a faded sign that read: Inwood Animal Hospital — Emergency Care.
Nora slammed the Escalade into park, killed the engine, and didn't hesitate. She threw open her door, sprinted around to the passenger side, yanked the door open, and hauled Damian out into the pouring rain.
May you like
His weight hit her hard, nearly knocking her to the wet asphalt, but she braced her wide frame against his side, throwing his heavy arm over her shoulder.
"I've got you," she grunted, half-carrying, half-dragging him toward the heavy metal back door of the clinic. "Come on, Castellano. Don't you dare quit on me now."
