Page 14 of Savage Little War

“Cover,” I choke out. “Now.”

Dmitri looks wary about staying, but this was a targeted attack. Whoever did this isn’t going to risk bombing a standard American bar. He wraps his arm around me and ushers me to the nearest place. It’s a steakhouse with its doors yawning open, tables abandoned and chairs overturned.

“Stay down,” he says as he helps me into a booth before he drags the door mostly shut and wedges the latch with a chair like he’s done it before. Then he pulls out his phone and calls Sean.

I catch my breath, my heart trying to slam its way out of my chest. How many attacks are there going to be? When are things finally going to settle down and not completely fall apart?

I take a peek over the top of the booth seat to look through the front windows of the restaurant, seeing police officers rush toward the bar. I doubt they’ll find anyone there. Whoever did this is already long gone.

Dmitri hangs up the phone and walks over to me to sit next to me. “Sean’s on his way.”

“I don’t remember them using bombs,” I whisper to Dmitri. “Not like this.”

“They’re angry. They’ll do whatever it takes to cause the most pain,” Dmitri reminds me as he lays a clenched fist on top of the table.

“I can’t believe this,” I breathe out, my mind replaying the explosion. The splintering of the building. The people flying through the air. How they didn’t get up.

“They bombed a public bar on a busy street knowing people would be here,” Dmitri says, anger etched into every feature on his face.

“They knew people would be in the casino at night too. Three people died,” I reply quietly. “But most of them had time to escape the fire. These people didn’t even have a chance to run.”

Dmitri shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “Things are getting out of control. We hit their poison. They hit strangers.”

Dread seeps into my soul as my eyes drift down to the table. Whoever is doing this, whether it’s the Italians or someone else, are cruel, sick people who have a lot of bad karma coming their way. They can’t get away with this.

We wait in tense silence until we hear a knock on the door. Dmitri slides out of the booth seat. “It’s your father.”

I follow him out of the seat, watching Dmitri unlock the door to let Sean inside.

My father’s expression is dark and pained. “I went by the building. At least eleven people were killed on impact. They found the remnants of a device that was planted under the small stage where performers play, wired like a pro.”

“I’m sorry,” I say to him, knowing that he liked this place and some of the regulars. I remember him talking about going down to Fremont Street to meet up with friends.

Sean nods, his eyes looking glassy and tired.

“Bastards,” Dmitri mutters as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t think this would affect you. I thought they were just focused on Bratva properties.”

“I figured this was coming, eventually. We were poking our nose in a lot,” Sean replies.

“Do you think this was a warning against you working with the Bratva?” I ask him.

My father looks surprised by my question, but he nods. “It’s likely. We’ve tried to be discreet, but a clever Italian spy could figure it out. Who knows how often we’re being watched?”

I cast a wary glance toward the door, wondering if whoever did this is truly gone or admiring his work from a safe distance as the police officers and firefighters pull bodies out of the rubble.

“I’ll report this incident to the rest of the Bratva. They should know that we’re not the only ones being attacked. If this is the Italians, they’re trying to wage war against more than just us,” Dmitri says.

“Then, I’ll wage war back, yeah?” Dad says, his eyes narrowing with determination as he turns to Dmitri. “You have full Irish support for your war against Ferro. I know the bastard has to be behind all this shit.”

My eyes widen in surprise. I knew they were somewhat allies, but this makes things official. They’re no longer enemies.

Dmitri shakes my father’s offered hand. “If we put our men and our resources together, we can stop Ferro before he does anything worse.”

“Then, we need to work fast. If he’s willing to kill civilians in the middle of a busy street, there’s no telling what atrocities he’s willing to commit next to hurt either of us,” Sean replies before his eyes stray to me. “He’s already tried to hit us where it really hurts.”

I frown as they both peer at me in concern. The last thing that I need is for them to see me as a delicate piece of glass that they have to shelter and protect from danger. I’m in this.

“I’m helping,” I say, before either of them can wrap me in cotton. “I can tell you which voices were in that basement. And if we start mowing down everyone with an Italian accent, we’re no better than them. We have to do this smart.”