Chapter 2 - The Red Sacrifice
The human brain makes strange calculations in fractions of a second.
Madeline Hayes didn’t think about her unpaid electric bill. She didn’t think about the wet, freezing rain hitting the diner’s neon sign outside, or the $80,000 mountain of debt waiting for her at home.
She only saw the dark barrel of an automatic pistol raised toward the back of Gabriel Rossi’s head—and three feet behind Gabriel, separated by a hollow wooden door, slept six-year-old Oliver.
If the gunman pulled that trigger, Gabriel would fall. And if Gabriel fell, the masked men would clear the diner floor. They would open every door. They would find her son.
Not my baby.
Madeline pushed off the sticky tile floor with every ounce of strength left in her overworked body. She didn't scream. She didn't hesitate. She threw herself into the narrow gap between the counter and the booth, launching her body straight into the line of fire.
CRACK.
The sound was less like a gun and more like a heavy iron hammer striking a sheet of ice.
A sudden, blinding white heat tore into Madeline’s left collarbone. The impact felt like being struck by a speeding truck, throwing her sideways across the diner floor. She hit the floorboards hard, her vision instantly exploding into red and black spots. The breath left her lungs in a wet, choking gasp.
Gabriel Rossi reacted with the lightning instinct of a man who had survived a dozen street wars.
Before the shooter could chamber another round, Gabriel spun around, his custom silver Glock clearing his leather holster in a fluid motion. Three deafening shots shattered the air.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The masked shooter collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, dropping his weapon onto the linoleum. Outside, the black SUV’s tires shrieked against the wet asphalt as the driver realized the hit had failed, speeding away into the dark Chicago night.
Silence slammed down on the diner, heavy and thick, broken only by the hum of the broken refrigerator and the frantic patter of rain.
Gabriel didn't chase the car. He didn't check his own pulse. He dropped to his knees beside Madeline, his dark eyes wide with an emotion no one in Chicago had ever seen on the face of the ruthless Rossi boss: absolute shock.
"Stay still," Gabriel growled, his deep, gravelly voice tight with pressure. He ripped off his tailored silk tie and pressed his heavy hand directly against the gushing wound near her neck. "Do not move, sweetheart. Stay with me."
Madeline choked, blood pooling beneath her dark apron. Her hazel eyes were wide, unfocused, staring up at the flickering fluorescent lights above.
"O... Oliver..." she gasped, her pale lips trembling. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "In... in the office... please..."
Gabriel froze. "What?"
"My... my son..." Madeline’s fingers clawed weakly at Gabriel’s sleeve, her nails digging into his expensive coat. "Behind the door... don't... don't let them take him..."
Understanding slammed into Gabriel like a tidal wave. She hadn't thrown herself into a bullet to save a crime lord. She had taken a bullet to stop the gunfire from reaching the back room where her child lay sleeping.
A heavy, suffocating weight settled into Gabriel’s chest. He turned his head toward the back office door.
"Gabriel!"
Four heavy SUVs screeched to a halt outside the shattered front windows. Eight armed men in charcoal suits burst through the diner door, guns drawn, led by Gabriel’s chief lieutenant, a giant of a man named Marco.
"Boss! Are you hit?!" Marco shouted, scanning the room.
"Call Dr. Vance! Get the private trauma unit to the North Shore clinic NOW!" Gabriel barked, his voice vibrating with command. "Clear the street! Nobody touches this scene!"
"Boss, who is she?" Marco asked, staring at the bleeding waitress beneath Gabriel’s hands.
"The woman who took a round for me," Gabriel spat, his eyes dark as midnight. He looked down at Madeline, whose eyes were fluttering shut, her skin turning as cold as porcelain. "Hang on, Madeline. Do you hear me? Look at me!"
Madeline’s hand slipped from his arm, falling limp onto the blood-stained floor.
Gabriel didn't hesitate. He scooped her trembling, frail body up into his arms, ignoring the blood soaking into his white dress shirt. He turned toward the office door and kicked it open with his heavy leather boot.
Inside, sitting under a dim desk lamp, was a six-year-old boy.
Oliver wore oversized blue pajamas covered in faded stars. He was clutching a threadbare brown teddy bear to his chest, his big, brown eyes wide with terror, tears streaming silently down his tiny cheeks.
Gabriel stopped. The ruthless king of Chicago’s underworld stood framed in the doorway, holding the boy’s bleeding mother in his arms.
Oliver looked at Gabriel, then at his mother’s pale, bloodied face. "Mommy...?" the little boy whispered, his voice trembling. "Is Mommy sleeping?"
Gabriel felt something inside his hardened heart fracture. He stepped forward, lowering his heavy frame until he was at eye level with the child, keeping his hand over Madeline’s bleeding shoulder.
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"Your mommy is very brave, son," Gabriel said, his dark voice surprisingly gentle, carrying an unshakable promise. "And I am going to make sure she wakes up. Come with me."
Oliver didn't cry out. He reached up, wrapping his small arms around Gabriel’s neck, burying his face into Gabriel’s blood-stained shoulder as the mob boss carried both mother and son out into the storm.
