Chapter 8 - A Man Without His Gun
Marco stepped into the bakery holding a pistol low against his leg.
He looked irritated.
Not frightened.
Not wild.
Like we had made him late for something.
“Lorenzo,” he said. “You’ve made a mess.”
I stayed crouched behind a steel worktable with Emma under my arm.
The phone lay near my knee, the dispatcher still listening.
Rosa stood beside the shutter controls.
Marco pointed at her.
“Sit down.”
She didn’t move.
“Rosa.”
“You ate at my table when your mother worked here,” she said.
His face tightened.
“Sit. Down.”
Lorenzo lifted one hand.
“Look at me.”
Marco did.
“You were supposed to be in the car,” he said. “One clean job.”
“You missed.”
“Not by much.”
Blood had reached the waistband of Lorenzo’s trousers.
Marco saw it too.
“Give me the drive, Nora.”
My pocket suddenly felt enormous.
“What drive?”
He smiled without humor.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Emma made a small choking sound against my chest.
His eyes flicked toward her.
I pulled her closer.
“Don’t look at my daughter.”
Lorenzo shifted in front of us.
“You want the family accounts?” he asked Marco. “Vittoria can’t unlock all of them.”
Marco hesitated.
There it was.
Not loyalty.
Money.
Lorenzo kept talking.
“She’ll give you promises. Then she’ll give you a funeral too.”
“Shut up.”
“Why is she outside telling the police you were responsible for security?”
Marco’s jaw moved.
I could hear shouting beyond the shutter.
Officers were close.
Marco heard it and swung the pistol toward the loading entrance.
Rosa moved.
She slammed the emergency wash station lever, sending water across the floor and into his legs.
It wasn’t enough to stop him.
It was enough to make him turn.
Lorenzo drove into him.
They hit the worktable hard.
The pistol skidded under a cabinet.
I grabbed Emma and pulled Rosa down beside us.
The shutter rose three feet with a violent metallic groan.
Outside hands.
Police shouting.
“Show me your hands!”
Marco shoved Lorenzo off and raised both palms.
Then he pointed at me.
“She has the evidence,” he shouted.
His face changed.
He wasn’t accusing me.
May you like
He was warning someone.
Behind the officers, beyond the half-open shutter, Vittoria was watching.
