Chapter 2 - A Bullet Was Never the Real Weapon
By two in the morning, the storm had swallowed the entire mountain.
The highway patrol reported three separate landslides.
The nearest hospital was forty-seven miles away.
And Gage Sartori was dying in Booth Six.
I stood beside him with bloody hands while Curtis argued quietly into a satellite phone.
“I don’t care what it costs. Get a helicopter up here.”
A voice answered through the speaker.
Curtis looked toward the windows.
“Then find another pilot.”
He listened.
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“No, we are not moving him by road.”
He hung up.
“Well?” I asked.
“Visibility is too poor.”
“How long?”
“Until sunrise. Maybe longer.”
I looked at Gage.
“He doesn’t have until sunrise.”
Curtis said nothing.
I hated that silence.
“Is there a doctor in your organization?”
“Yes.”
“Call him.”
“We already did.”
“Video.”
Curtis frowned.
“You have satellite communication. Put him on video.”
Thirty seconds later, an older man appeared on a tablet screen.
“Show me the wound.”
I held the camera while Curtis moved the bandages.
The doctor’s expression changed.
“That second wound wasn’t caused during the ambush.”
“I know,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Who are you?”
“Delaney.”
“She found it,” Curtis said.
The doctor stared at the injury.
“Delaney, press two fingers approximately two inches above the stab wound.”
I did.
Gage jerked even while unconscious.
“Good. Release.”
I did.
The bleeding increased.
The doctor cursed.
“What?”
Curtis demanded.
“The blade may have damaged an intercostal vessel. If it nicked something larger…”
“Can you fix it?”
“Not from Chicago.”
Curtis looked at me.
“Can she?”
I stared at him.
“Absolutely not.”
The doctor agreed.
“She should not attempt surgery.”
“Then give us another option.”
The doctor was quiet.
Finally, he said, “Control the bleeding. Keep him warm. Keep his airway clear. If his breathing deteriorates, tell me immediately.”
“That’s your plan?”
“That’s what exists.”
Curtis ended the call.
I walked behind the counter and washed my hands.
My reflection in the stainless-steel backsplash looked exhausted.
Blood on my apron.
Hair falling loose.
Eyes red from fear I did not have time to acknowledge.
A door opened behind me.
My mother appeared.
“Mom.”
She leaned against her cane.
“What happened?”
“You should be in bed.”
“I heard a gunshot in my diner.”
“Technically, Dad’s diner.”
She gave me the look mothers use when they are deciding whether their adult children have become stupid.
Then she noticed Gage.
Her expression changed.
“Is that—”
“Yes.”
“Gage Sartori?”
“Yes.”
She lowered her voice.
“Why is Gage Sartori bleeding on your father’s booth?”
“Long story.”
My mother looked around at the armed men.
Then at the broken window.
Then at me.
“Did you feed them?”
I stared.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“They look hungry.”
Curtis turned slightly.
My mother pointed toward the kitchen.
“There’s stew.”
One of the younger guards looked hopeful.
Curtis glared at him.
“What?” the guard whispered. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
My mother sighed.
“I raised a daughter who will open the door for gunmen but apparently won’t feed them.”
“I was occupied preventing murder.”
“Excuses.”
For the first time that night, several men smiled.
Then headlights appeared through the snow.
Every smile disappeared.
“Down!” Curtis shouted.
The guards moved immediately.
Two killed the lights.
Another pulled my mother away from the window.
I crouched behind the counter.
Three vehicles came slowly through the parking lot.
Black.
No emergency lights.
Curtis peered through a gap in the blinds.
“Those aren’t ours.”
My stomach tightened.
“How do you know?”
“Our people know the approach signal.”
“What approach signal?”
“Not important.”
The vehicles stopped.
Nobody got out.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then a phone rang.
Not Curtis’s.
Not mine.
A phone inside the diner.
Everyone looked toward the kitchen.
Curtis’s expression turned lethal.
“Derek.”
Two guards dragged the traitor back into the dining room.
His face was bruised.
The ringing came from his pocket.
Curtis took the phone and answered.
He said nothing.
A man’s voice came through.
“Derek?”
Curtis remained silent.
“Derek, answer me.”
Curtis pressed speaker.
The man continued.
“Is Sartori dead?”
Every guard looked at Gage.
Derek closed his eyes.
Curtis finally spoke.
“No.”
Silence.
Then the man on the phone laughed.
“Curtis Holland.”
“Who is this?”
“You know exactly who I am.”
Curtis’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
Recognition.
“Victor.”
Several men cursed under their breath.
Derek looked at the floor.
Victor spoke again.
“You should have left Gage on the mountain.”
“You should have sent better men.”
“I sent one man.”
Curtis glanced at Derek.
“And he failed.”
“Not completely. Your boss is still bleeding.”
I looked toward Gage.
Victor continued.
“I’ll make you an offer.”
Curtis said nothing.
“Bring Sartori outside. Leave him in the parking lot. You and the others walk away.”
“And the woman?”
My blood went cold.
Victor laughed.
“So there is a woman.”
Curtis’s eyes shifted toward me.
“You don’t know anything about her.”
“She opened the door.”
My stomach dropped.
He knew.
Somebody had been watching.
Victor continued.
“That makes her part of this.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a question.”
Curtis stepped closer to the window.
“You touch her, and—”
“And what? Gage will punish me?”
Victor laughed again.
“Gage Sartori is dying.”
From Booth Six came a rough voice.
“That’s disappointing.”
Everyone froze.
Gage was awake.
His eyes were open.
Curtis hurried to him.
“Boss.”
Gage lifted one hand.
“Phone.”
“You need to conserve your strength.”
“Phone.”
Curtis handed it over.
Gage held it against his ear.
“Victor.”
Silence from the other side.
Gage smiled weakly.
“You sound surprised.”
Victor’s confidence disappeared.
“You should be dead.”
“So people keep telling me.”
“You won’t survive the night.”
“Maybe.”
Gage looked at me.
“But if I do…”
His voice became softer.
“…you won’t survive tomorrow.”
Victor hung up.
Almost immediately, the three vehicles outside switched on their headlights.
Curtis grabbed the phone.
“Positions!”
The guards spread through the diner.
My mother took my arm.
“Delaney, come with me.”
“No.”
“Delaney.”
“I’m not leaving him.”
Gage looked toward me.
“You should.”
I turned.
He had somehow pushed himself partly upright.
“You’ll tear the wound open.”
“That’s not your biggest problem.”
“Lie down.”
His eyebrows rose.
Even dying, he looked offended by being ordered around.
“You always speak to armed criminals like this?”
“Only the ones bleeding on my furniture.”
A sound escaped him.
Almost a laugh.
Then gunfire shattered the front windows.
Glass exploded across the diner.
“DOWN!”
Curtis dragged Gage from the booth as bullets tore through the walls.
I pulled my mother behind the kitchen partition.
The guards returned fire.
The noise was deafening.
Wood splintered.
Coffee mugs exploded.
A framed picture of my father fell from the wall.
That made me angrier than the bullets.
“You bastards!”
My mother grabbed my sleeve.
“Delaney!”
“What?”
“You are not going outside!”
“I wasn’t!”
“You had the face.”
“What face?”
“The same face your father made right before doing something stupid.”
Another burst of gunfire hit the diner.
Then silence.
Curtis yelled from the dining room.
“They’re moving around back!”
My stomach dropped.
The rear entrance.
“They’ll come through the kitchen.”
I ran toward the stove.
“Delaney!”
I opened the industrial gas burners.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then I grabbed a skillet.
Curtis appeared.
“What are you doing?”
“Do you trust me?”
He looked genuinely unsure.
“Not enough for whatever this is.”
“Get everyone away from the kitchen door.”
“Why?”
A shadow appeared behind the frosted rear window.
I grabbed a container of flour.
Curtis stared.
“Seriously?”
“Move.”
The door crashed inward.
A masked man entered with a rifle.
I threw the flour directly into his face.
He stumbled.
I swung the cast-iron skillet.
It connected with the side of his head.
He dropped.
Curtis stared at me.
I stared back.
“What?”
A second attacker appeared.
Curtis shot him before he crossed the threshold.
“Okay,” he said.
“What?”
“I trust you.”
More shots erupted outside.
Then one of Gage’s guards shouted.
“They’re retreating!”
Engines roared.
The three vehicles reversed into the storm and vanished.
Nobody moved for several seconds.
Curtis checked the fallen attacker.
“Dead.”
I looked around my diner.
Broken windows.
Bullet holes.
Blood.
Furniture destroyed.
My father’s photograph lying face-down on the floor.
I picked it up.
The glass was cracked directly across his face.
For some reason, that almost broke me.
Gage noticed.
He was sitting against the wall, supported by one of his men.
“That your father?”
“Yes.”
“He built this place?”
“Yes.”
“He alive?”
I shook my head.
Gage studied the photograph.
“What would he say about tonight?”
I wiped broken glass from the frame.
“That I should’ve used the heavier skillet.”
Gage laughed.
Then immediately winced.
“Don’t do that.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
Curtis stepped closer.
“We need to relocate.”
Gage shook his head.
“No.”
“They know where we are.”
“They also know I’m alive.”
“Exactly.”
Gage looked at Derek.
The traitor was still tied near the counter.
“Victor will assume we run.”
“So?”
“So we don’t.”
Curtis frowned.
“Boss—”
“We stay here until my people reach the mountain.”
I stared at him.
“You’re planning to turn my diner into a fortress?”
Gage met my eyes.
“I’m planning to keep you alive.”
“I didn’t ask for protection.”
“You opened your door.”
“So?”
“So Victor knows your face now.”
The room became quiet.
Gage continued.
“You saved me. That makes you leverage.”
“I don’t want to be leverage.”
“Nobody does.”
I folded my arms.
“And what exactly happens when your people arrive?”
“Victor loses the mountain.”
“And me?”
His gaze stayed on mine.
“You go back to your life.”
I looked around the destroyed diner.
“My life is currently full of bullet holes.”
Gage followed my gaze.
He saw the foreclosure notice.
I watched his expression become unreadable.
“How much do you owe?”
“Don’t.”
“How much?”
“I’m not taking mafia money.”
“You took mafia blood.”
“That wasn’t voluntary.”
His eyes almost smiled.
Curtis interrupted.
“Boss, we have movement.”
Everyone turned.
A vehicle was approaching from the north.
Only one this time.
It stopped at the edge of the lot.
A man stepped out alone.
No gun visible.
He raised both hands.
Curtis moved toward the door.
Gage’s voice stopped him.
“Wait.”
The stranger shouted through the storm.
“I have a message for Gage Sartori!”
Nobody answered.
The man pulled something from his coat.
A photograph.
He pressed it against the window.
Curtis went still.
“What is it?” I asked.
Gage stared at the picture.
For the first time since waking, real fear entered his eyes.
“Curtis.”
“I see it.”
I moved closer.
The photograph showed a young woman leaving what looked like a college dormitory.
Someone had drawn a red circle around her face.
I looked at Gage.
“Who is she?”
His jaw tightened.
“My sister.”
The messenger shouted again.
“Victor says you have until sunrise!”
Gage’s eyes turned cold.
“What does he want?”
The man smiled through the glass.
“You.”
Gage slowly stood despite Curtis trying to stop him.
Blood immediately soaked through the fresh bandage.
“Boss.”
“Get my coat.”
“You can barely stand.”
“Get it.”
I stepped in front of him.
“No.”
His eyes moved to mine.
“Move.”
“You walk outside like this, you’ll die before you reach the parking lot.”
“My sister dies if I don’t.”
“And you think Victor will release her after killing you?”
Gage said nothing.
“That’s not a deal. That’s an execution.”
His expression hardened.
“You don’t understand this world.”
“No. But I understand liars.”
He stared at me.
I pointed toward Derek.
“That man lied to you.”
Then toward the messenger outside.
“And that one is working for the man who already tried to murder you twice tonight.”
I stepped closer.
“If Victor wanted a trade, he wouldn’t have sent assassins first.”
Curtis slowly nodded.
“She’s right.”
Gage’s gaze remained on me.
“What are you suggesting?”
I looked at the photograph again.
Then at the storm.
Then at the old map hanging beside the diner’s kitchen door.
My father had driven every logging trail, service road, and abandoned mining path on Hollis Mountain.
Most outsiders didn’t even know those roads existed.
I did.
I turned toward Gage.
“You want your sister back?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop acting like a mafia boss for five minutes.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“And do what?”
“Listen to the broke diner owner who actually knows this mountain.”
For the first time that night, Gage Sartori looked at me not as a civilian.
Not as a liability.
May you like
Not even as the woman who had saved his life.
He looked at me like I had just become part of his war.
