Chapter 4 - THE SHADOW OF THE PASTEverything happened in a fraction of a second.
The gunman raised the silenced pistol, pointing it directly at Sophie’s chest.
"Down!" Alessandro roared.
Before Sophie could even process the threat, Alessandro grabbed her by the shoulder and slammed her down onto the carpet behind the thick leather booth. His broad body covered hers completely, protecting her from the line of fire.
Pfft! Pfft!
The soft, muffled coughs of a silenced firearm echoed through the restaurant. The glass bottle of 1985 Château Léoville-Las Cases exploded into a thousand crimson shards, showering the table with wine and glass. A woman across the room screamed, and total chaos erupted in L’Étoile Noir. Patrons threw themselves under tables, plates shattered, and waiters scrambled for the exits.
Alessandro’s two bodyguards acted with terrifying efficiency.
The first bodyguard, a massive man named Marco, drew a sleek black Glock from his shoulder holster in one fluid motion. He fired three rapid shots into the lead Russian attacker.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The heavy gunshots deafened Sophie. The lead attacker collapsed backward into a table of silver ice buckets, his chest torn open. The second Russian reached for his weapon, but Marco’s partner, Luca, closed the distance instantly, grabbing the man’s arm, breaking his wrist with a sickening CRACK, and driving a combat knife straight into his throat.
Sophie pressed her back against the wooden base of the booth, her hands clutched over her ears, her heart pounding so hard she felt sick. She had never seen violence like this—raw, instantaneous, and lethal.
Alessandro rose to his knees, his own weapon—a custom matte-black Sig Sauer—drawn and steady in his hands. He scanned the smoke-filled dining room with icy calmness.
"Marco! Clear the rear exit!" Alessandro commanded.
"Clear, Don Alessandro!" Marco called out, stepping over the fallen bodies.
Alessandro turned back to Sophie. He reached down, grabbing her hand, his strong grip pulling her effortlessly to her feet. He checked her quickly for injuries, his dark eyes searching her face.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his voice tight.
"N-no," Sophie gasped, her legs shaking so violently she could barely stand. "I'm... I'm okay."
"They were Lebrun’s men," Alessandro said, his jaw clenching as he looked at the dead Russians on the floor. "Lebrun knew I was coming here tonight. He knew I was looking for you. He tried to eliminate you before you could open those files."
He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close against his side. "Stay close to me. Do not let go of my jacket."
They moved swiftly through the panic-stricken dining room. Monsieur Laurent was cowering behind the host stand, weeping uncontrollably. As they passed, Alessandro tossed a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills onto the podium.
"For the broken glass, Laurent," Alessandro said coldly. "And if the police ask, you never saw us."
They burst through the heavy oak doors of L’Étoile Noir into the dark, rain-slicked streets of Manhattan.
A massive, armored black Cadillac Escalade was idling at the curb, its hazard lights flashing. Luca threw open the rear door, and Alessandro ushered Sophie inside before climbing in beside her. The doors slammed shut, the heavy bulletproof glass sealing out the sound of approaching police sirens.
The SUV accelerated smoothly, disappearing into the dark, wet grid of New York City.
Sophie collapsed back against the plush leather seat of the vehicle, breathing heavily. She looked down at her hands. They were covered in dark red stains—not blood, but the 1985 Bordeaux that had spilled when the bottle shattered.
Beside her, Alessandro unbuttoned his suit jacket, holstered his weapon, and pulled a pristine white linen handkerchief from his pocket.
Without a word, he took her hand in his.
With incredible gentleness, he began to wipe the wine stains from her fingers, one by one. His touch was firm, steady, and strangely comforting amidst the madness.
"You're safe now, Sophie," Alessandro said softly, his dark eyes holding hers in the dim interior of the car. "No one will ever touch you while you are with me."
Sophie looked at him—this feared mafia boss, this man whose name made the entire city tremble. Yet, looking into his eyes, she saw no cruelty toward her. She saw only protection.
May you like
"Where are we going?" Sophie whispered.
"To my estate in Long Island," Alessandro replied, setting the soiled handkerchief aside. "You will have a room, clothes, and security. And tomorrow morning, we begin work on Lebrun’s destruction."
