CAUGHT BETWEEN TWO RIVAL MAFIA BOSSE

Episode 5: chapter 5: The Third Player

Glass rained across the kitchen like sugar.

Something heavy slammed into Amara and drove her to the floor. Her cheek hit the cold tiles, and a weight pinned her there, solid and warm, smelling of cedar and gun oil.

"Don't move," Dante said into her hair.

A second shot cracked. The wedding cake shuddered. Its top tier slid sideways, hung for a heartbeat, then collapsed in a slow, white avalanche beside her head.

"Chiamaka's cake," Amara whispered, absurdly.

"Your cake is not the priority."

"It is to me."

From behind the steel counter on the far side, Viktor let out a short, breathless laugh. He had flattened himself against the cabinets, a pistol now in his hand. "She is worried about dessert. I am starting to like her a great deal."

"Shut up, Volkov." Dante hadn't taken his eyes off the shattered window. "Where is it coming from?"

"The roof opposite. Where I was lying an hour ago." Viktor's smile vanished. "Which means whoever it is has been watching me watch her."

A third shot, and a metal tray rang like a bell. The red dot slid across the ceiling, hunting, and Amara felt her stomach tighten. It would find her again in seconds.

She looked around the kitchen, the one place on earth she knew better than anyone alive. Racks. Mixers. Ovens. The great canvas sack of flour she'd dragged in that afternoon.

"Dante," she said.

"Quiet."

"Dante. There's a fifty-pound flour bag three feet from your left boot."

He glanced at it. Then at her. "And?"

"And a sniper needs a clear line. Cut the bag, and throw it at the window."

For one second his face showed nothing. Then something dangerously close to respect crossed it. He didn't thank her. He reached out, dragged the sack across the floor, slit it with a knife from his belt, and hurled it at the shattered frame in one brutal motion.

White exploded across the room.

The air turned to a thick, blinding fog. The red dot swam in it, scattered into a useless pink haze, and vanished.

"Now," Viktor said, already moving. "Back door. Go."

They ran. Dante had Amara by the wrist, Viktor covered the rear, and the alley's dead bulb gave them no light but the glow of a far-off streetlamp. Her bare arm scraped a brick corner, then a shard of glass she hadn't seen. Pain flared bright and hot. She gasped.

Dante stopped short. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"It is not nothing." His voice was colder than she'd heard it yet. He turned her arm over under the faint light. A shallow cut ran from elbow to wrist, welling dark red. For a moment his thumb hovered over it and did not touch.

Viktor was beside them in an instant. He pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket, silk, monogrammed, probably worth more than her oven, and wound it around her forearm. His fingers were quick and surprisingly careful.

"There," he said softly. "Pressure. Keep it above your heart."

Amara looked from one man to the other. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you are leverage," said Dante, flatly.

"Because you are valuable," said Viktor, at the same moment.

They glared at each other. Neither looked at her. Neither, she noticed, had let go of her arm.

"Take your hand off her," Dante said.

"Take yours off," Viktor said pleasantly.

Neither moved.

A car's engine roared at the mouth of the alley. Headlights swept over them, and a long black sedan screeched to a stop. Dante's men spilled out, guns drawn, three of them, shouting orders.

"Boss! Are you hit?"

"No." Dante pulled Amara toward the car. "Move. Now."

"She's coming with me," Viktor said, and four of his own men appeared from the opposite end of the alley, weapons raised.

A standoff, in the dark, in the cold, with Amara in the middle. Seven guns. Two bosses. No one breathing.

Her phone buzzed in her apron pocket.

So did Dante's. And Viktor's.

Three phones, at the same instant, in the silence.

Dante glanced at his screen first. His face turned to stone. Then Viktor read his, and the warmth drained from his eyes until nothing was left but ice.

"What?" Amara asked. "What does it say?"

Dante turned his phone around.

An unknown number. One line.

Thank you for keeping her alive. Now bring her to me, and I'll let you both live.

The red dot appeared on Amara's wrist, right on Viktor's silk handkerchief, steady as a held breath.

And then, from somewhere in the dark, a voice laughed softly.