Chapter 5 - Blood and Protection
Screams ripped through the shattered parlor. Plaster dust, glass, and wood splinters filled the air like a localized blizzard.
Damiano lay completely over Clara and Mia, his massive frame forming an impenetrable shield. He pressed Mia’s face firmly into his chest, using his left arm to lock her head against his collarbone so she couldn't see the violence, while his right arm held Clara pinned securely beneath him.
"Stay down!" Damiano growled, his voice a low thunder above the roar of gunfire.
Clara squeezed her eyes shut, holding onto Damiano’s waist, her body shaking hysterically as bullets punched through the wooden counter three feet above them.
Outside, Rafael Conti was already executing his counter-strike.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sharp, measured cracks of Rafael’s custom hand cannon cut through the chaotic spray of automatic fire. The driver of the delivery van slumped over the steering wheel, his horn blaring continuously into the street.
Damiano reached into his left shoulder holster, pulling out a dark, matte-black Sig Sauer. Without exposing Mia to the line of fire, he reached over the edge of the booth, lined up his sight through the swirling dust, and squeezed the trigger twice.
BANG! BANG!
A gunman standing in the van's side door collapsed onto the asphalt, dropping his submachine gun.
"Clear!" Rafael’s voice roared from the street. "Boss! Clear!"
Damiano didn't immediately stand up. He remained still for three seconds, listening to the ambient noise of sirens wailing in the distance, confirming the immediate threat was suppressed.
He looked down beneath him. Mia was breathing heavily against his crisp white shirt, her small fingers clutching his lapel. She hadn't been hit. Not a single scratch.
"Mia?" Damiano asked softly, his voice trembling with a rare, terrifying emotion. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm... I'm okay," Mia sniffled, her voice muffled against his chest. "Damiano... my trophy broke."
Damiano looked down at the floorboards. The plastic pink ribbon and gold cup lay fractured near his elbow.
A dark, terrifying fire ignited behind Damiano’s eyes.
He turned to Clara. A small cut on her cheek was bleeding slightly from flying glass, but otherwise, she was unharmed. Her eyes were wide with terror, staring at the black handgun in his hand.
"It's over," Damiano said gently, tucking the weapon back into his holster before standing up. He lifted Mia effortlessly into his left arm, holding her head against his neck, while using his right hand to lift Clara to her feet.
Rafael rushed through the shattered doorway, his gun re-holstered, blood splattered across his sleeve. "Boss, two sedans are coming up 3rd Avenue. We need to move now. The backup units are twenty seconds away."
Damiano didn't speak. He guided Clara through the destroyed parlor, stepping over the glass and spent casings. He pushed her into the rear seat of the armored Maybach, slid Mia in beside her, and climbed in last, slamming the heavy, bulletproof door shut.
As the Maybach roared away from the scene, backed by three tactical SUVs that had swarmed the intersection, Clara sat in the leather seat, holding Mia tightly in her arms, tears spilling down her pale face.
"Who were they?" Clara sobbed, looking at Damiano. "Why were they shooting at us? Why were they shooting at a child?"
Damiano sat across from them. His navy jacket was ruined, covered in plaster dust and a dark stain of blood near his left shoulder where a glass shard had sliced through his skin, but he ignored the pain entirely.
"They were not shooting at Mia," Damiano said, his voice flat, dangerously quiet. "They were shooting at me. Don Silvio Marchetti thought he could catch me off guard because I left my estate without a full war detail."
Clara shrank back into the leather seat. The reality of who Damiano Verrone truly was hit her like a tidal wave. He was not just a rich man in a fine mansion. He was a creature of violence, living in a world where death waited behind every corner.
"I... I can't stay at your estate," Clara whispered, her voice breaking. "I can't let Mia be in danger, Mr. Verrone. I have to take her away. I have to hide."
Damiano leaned forward, placing his large, warm hands over Clara’s trembling knees. The sheer intensity of his gaze commanded her complete attention.
"Listen to me, Clara," Damiano spoke, each word measured like iron. "If you leave my estate today, Marchetti’s men will hunt you down within twenty-four hours to use you as leverage against me. Out there, you are vulnerable. But inside my home, behind my walls, under my protection... no power in this city can touch you."
Clara looked into his dark gray eyes. She saw the lethal killer that the world feared, but beneath it, she saw an absolute, unyielding wall of protection. He had covered her body with his own without a second thought. He had bled to keep her child safe.
"Do you trust me?" Damiano asked softly.
Clara swallowed hard, looking down at Mia, who had fallen asleep from pure exhaustion against her chest.
"I trust you," Clara whispered.
Damiano nodded slowly. He looked out the tinted window as the Maybach passed through the iron gates of the Upper East Side estate.
"Rafael," Damiano said coldly.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Lock down the estate. Move Clara and Mia into the master suite on the third floor."
Rafael paused, his eyes meeting Damiano’s in the rearview mirror. The third floor was sacred ground. No one had stepped foot into the master suite since Elena had died three years ago.
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"Understood, Boss," Rafael replied.
"And Rafael?" Damiano added, his voice dropping into a register that made the blood run cold. "Summon the caporegimes. Tell them the Don is taking his city back."
