Adriana sees it, too. I watch her spine straighten and her hands ball into tight fists at her sides.
“Sonny, I know that you’re scared.” She motions to his wife and daughter. “And I am so sorry that they came after your livelihood to bully you into working with them. But I have dealt with them before, and I will handle this as well. I give you my word?—”
The front door slams open before she can finish.
I pull out my gun. “Stay here,” I say to them before I rush out of the kitchen. Three men in leather jackets and pock-marked faces sneer at me. The one in front has a shaved head and dead eyes. He steps forward.
“Well, well,” he says in a thick Russian accent. “The little boss herself. We were hoping you'd show up.”
I whip around to find Adriana standing behind me. “I told you to stay back,” I hiss.
“I’m not letting you handle this yourself,” she whispers back. “This is my responsibility.”
“How sweet,” Shaved Head says, grinning with half a mouthful of yellowing teeth. “And lucky for us that we can take out the DiMicheli bossandher useless bodyguard husband.”
I shove Adriana behind me, gun in my outstretched hand. The other two guys fan out behind Shaved Head.
“You need to leave,” I say. “Now.”
“The Molloy dog.” Shaved Head tilts his head, a menacinggrin on his face. “We've heard about you. Playing house with the DiMicheli princess.” He steps closer. “Is this all your daddy trusts you with now? Being the trophy husband?”
“Last warning,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Or what? You'll shoot us?” His laughter booms. “There are three of us, and one of you. The woman doesn't count.”
Behind me, Adriana's voice cuts through. Low and controlled. “Sonny. Get to the back. Now.”
Sonny runs back into the kitchen. One of the Russians moves to stop him.
My finger slides over the trigger. A bullet cracks and the asshole goes down hard. His screams pierce the tense air as he clutches his thigh.
I push Adriana out of the way, and she crawls over to the bar.
The other two reach for their weapons. I close the distance between me and one of the other guys and throw an elbow to his throat. He staggers, choking. I grab his gun arm and twist hard until something cracks. He drops.
When I straighten up, Shaved Head has his gun pointed at my face, his face bright red, eyes spitting ire.
“Are you ready to die, motherfucker?” His voice is tight, and he’s clearly pissed that two-thirds of his muscle is incapacitated. “Because I’m about to put a hole in your head. Drop the gun.”
I don’t move, the gun trained on him. I need to have his attention on me so that Adriana can escape to the kitchen and get out the back door with Sonny and his family, if they haven’t already bolted.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Adriana creep toward Shaved Head with a bottle in her hands.
Fuck. No.
If he turns around and sees her, he won’t hesitate to shoot. I keep my eyes on him, not giving him any indication that she’s close.
“Do you think I’m kidding, boy?” he yells. “Put the fucking gun?—"
Adriana swings the bottle at his head. Glass shatters and Shaved Head crumples to the floor like a bag of cement.
We stare at each other for a second, frozen to the spot.
The guy I shot is still screaming, holding his leg. The one with the broken arm is groaning on the floor. Shaved Head is out cold in a spreading pool of blood from his scalp. I grab their guns.
Sonny stands in the kitchen doorway, his wife and daughter cowering behind him.
Adriana stares at the broken, jagged bottle in her hand like she doesn't know how it got there.
