Chapter 4 - The Threat at the Door**
Two days passed in a tense, nerve-wracking blur.
Dante Vitale didn't return to Bella Notte, but his presence seemed to linger in the corners of my mind like an unshakeable phantom. Every time the front door chimed, my head snapped around, half-expecting to see those broad shoulders and dark espresso eyes cutting through the crowd.
By Thursday night, I was working the closing shift alone again. The restaurant was quiet, the rain lashing heavily against the large front windows, turning the neon street signs outside into blurred smears of red and green.
I was wiping down the mahogany bar when the front bell chimed.
"We're closed for the evening," I called out without looking up, polishing a wine glass with a cloth. "You can try the diner down the block."
"We aren't here for dinner, sweetheart."
The voice wasn't Dante's. It was harsh, grating, and dripping with jagged malice.
I snapped my head up. Two men stood just inside the doorway. They weren't wearing expensive custom suits like Dante's guards; instead, they wore cheap leather jackets, wet from the rain, with cold, shifting eyes that looked like they belonged to neighborhood junkies or low-level enforcers from a rival crew.
My blood ran cold.
"I said we're closed," I repeated, my voice dropping an octave as I backed slowly toward the service station where the emergency phone was hidden.
"We know you're closed," the taller of the two men sneered, stepping past the hostess stand and pulling a heavy, rust-stained switchblade from his pocket. The metal blade clicked open with a sickening snapping sound. "We also know that you've been catching the eye of our dear friend Dante Vitale over the last few days. The Boss wants a little insurance policy, and you look like just the right leverage."
Panic exploded in my chest. Rival syndicate enforcers. They weren't here to rob the register; they were here to kidnap me to use as a pawn against the Vitale family.
I bolted, diving behind the high service bar just as the man lunged forward.
*Crash!*
Glasses shattered across the floor as he slammed his hands down onto the wooden counter.
"Come out quietly, bitch, and we won't have to mark that pretty face of yours!"
My fingers scrabbled blindly across the shelf beneath the bar, finally closing around the heavy brass ice scoop. It was heavy, solid, and the only weapon within arm's reach.
Footsteps rounded the corner of the bar. A heavy hand grabbed the collar of my shirt, yanking me upright with brutal force. I screamed, swinging the brass scoop with every ounce of strength I possessed, connecting squarely with the man's jaw with a sickening crunch.
He staggered back, howling in pain and clutching his bleeding nose.
"You little whore!" the second man roared, raising a fist to strike me across the face.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the bone-shattering blow.
It never landed.
Instead, a deafening explosion echoed through the quiet restaurant.
*BANG!*
The front window glass shattered into a million glittering shards. A heavy, suffocating wave of violence swept through the room.
The attacker lunging at me froze instantly. A neat, dark hole appeared in the center of his forehead, and his eyes rolled back into his head before he collapsed like a broken puppet onto the broken glass.
The first man turned around in sheer terror, raising his switchblade toward the front door.
Three silenced gunshots cracked in rapid succession.
*Puff! Puff! Puff!*
He dropped to his knees, gasping for air, before sprawling facedown onto the hardwood floor, motionless.
The restaurant fell into a terrifying, graveyard silence, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the shattered windows and the heavy, metallic smell of fresh gunpowder.
I pressed my back against the shelves, hyperventilating, my hands covering my mouth to keep from screaming.
Heavy, unhurried footsteps crunched over the shattered glass near the entrance.
Dante Vitale stepped through the shattered front window frame.
His coat was gone, replaced by a dark tactical turtleneck under a heavy black wool overcoat. His right hand held a matte-black SIG Sauer pistol, the barrel still wisping a thin, ghostly trail of grey smoke into the humid air.
His dark eyes swept the room in a fraction of a second, registering the two dead bodies on the floor, before instantly locking onto me huddled behind the bar.
In a heartbeat, the deadly mafia boss vanished.
Dante dropped his weapon into his holster, vaulted over the bar with terrifying agility, and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me violently against his chest.
"Arya!" His voice was rough, ragged, and stripped of all its usual icy composure. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"
I buried my face in his heavy wool coat, shaking from head to toe, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. "I—I'm okay. I hit one of them with the ice scoop, but... but they were going to take me..."
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"I know, piccola," he whispered fiercely, wrapping his arms around me so tightly it felt as though he was trying to fuse us into a single entity. His lips pressed into my hair, his chest heaving rapidly beneath my cheek. "I know. It's over. They're dead. No one will ever touch you again. I swear it on my life."
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