Mafia Boss Insults Waitress In Sicilian—Then Froze When She Responds Back Fluently.

“DOWN!” Salvo roared.

He tackled me to the floor, covering my body entirely with his broad frame as heavy glass and plaster rained down around us. Bullets slammed into the parquet floor inches from our heads, kicking up splinters and smoke.

Matteo and four Romano operatives instantly formed a defensive wall around us, returning heavy fire toward the upper balcony where three masked gunmen were firing down into the crowd.

Gaetano’s crew was already retreating toward the rear service exits under cover of the chaos.

“They set us up!” Matteo yelled over the deafening roar of gunfire. “The Valentis brought shooters through the kitchen!”

Salvo pulled a suppressed 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster. He looked down at me, his face covered in white plaster dust, his eyes burning with a terrifying, unholy wrath.

“Are you hit?” Salvo demanded, his hands frantically scanning my arms and dress for blood. “Clara! Look at me! Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay!” I gasped, my heart pounding so hard I thought my ribs would snap. “I’m okay, Salvo!”

“Matteo! Get her to the armored car through the side kitchen!” Salvo ordered, standing up into a crouch and firing three precise shots toward the balcony, dropping one of the shooters instantly.

“No!” I screamed, grabbing his sleeve, refusing to let go. “I am not leaving you!”

Salvo looked down at me, a brief, stunning flash of pure, profound emotion breaking through his terrifying demeanor.

“I am coming right behind you, Clara,” Salvo growled, leaning down and slamming his lips against mine in a hot, fierce, desperate kiss that tasted of gunpowder and rain. “Now GO!”

Matteo grabbed my arm and dragged me across the smoke-filled ballroom, dodging fallen tables and screaming socialites, ducking into the dark service hallway behind the kitchen.

We burst through the heavy steel exit door into the rain-drenched alleyway.

The black Cadillac was waiting, its engine roaring. But as we sprinted toward the door, a dark van screeched into the alley, blocking our path!

The side doors slid open. Three men stepped out with weapons raised—led by Marco, Gaetano’s chief associate!

“Drop the weapon, Matteo!” Marco shouted, his gun aimed straight at my chest. “Or the Bellini girl dies tonight!”

Matteo froze, his pistol raised, standing between me and the van.

I stepped out from behind Matteo’s shoulder, rain soaking my emerald silk dress, plaster dust washing down my face. The cold wind howled down the alley, but inside my chest, a fire was burning that no rain could extinguish.

“You took my mother five years ago,” I said in loud, crystal-clear Sicilian, my voice echoing off the brick walls of the alley. “Where is she, Marco?”

Marco sneered, stepping forward into the rain. “Your mother was weak, girl! She hid in Queens like a rat! Just like you’re going to die in this alley!”

“No,” a deep, terrifying baritone rumbled from the dark doorway behind us. “She’s not.”

BANG!

A heavy caliber round tore through Marco’s shoulder, spinning him around before he hit the wet asphalt with a agonizing shriek!

Salvo Romano stepped out of the dark hallway into the rain. He wore no jacket now; his white dress shirt was soaked with blood and rain, his eyes looking like an executioner’s blade.

Behind him stepped ten heavily armed Romano enforcers, surrounding the alley in less than three seconds.

Gaetano’s men dropped their weapons instantly, raising their hands in absolute terror.

Salvo walked slowly down the alley, his heavy shoes splashing through the puddles. He stepped up to Marco, who was writhing on the pavement, and pressed the hot barrel of his gun directly against the man’s forehead.

“Where is Elena Bellini?” Salvo asked softly.

Marco choked on his own blood, sobbing in terror. “She’s... she’s alive! In a private estate in Upstate New York! Gaetano kept her alive... to sign over the old Sicilian land deeds! I swear on my life! She’s in Woodstock!”

Salvo looked over at me.

Tears of pure, overwhelming relief mixed with the cold rain on my face. She was alive. My mother was alive.