Chapter 6 - The Blade Under the Table
The relaxed atmosphere in the private dining room evaporated instantly.
Four armed men in tactical gear burst into the hallway, their assault rifles raised. They weren't Dominic’s guards, and they weren't Romano’s men. They were wearing unmarked black masks—hitmen from a rival faction trying to eliminate both syndicate bosses in one devastating strike.
"Down!" Dominic roared.
In a fraction of a second, Dominic’s training took over. He grabbed Clara by the waist, shoving her beneath the heavy mahogany table just as a hail of gunfire chewed through the restaurant’s wooden walls, shattering the crystal chandeliers into a rain of sparkling glass.
Screams echoed from the main dining hall outside.
Beneath the table, Clara was pressed tight against the Persian rug, her heart hammering against her ribs. But panic didn't take over; her professional theater-set survival instincts kicked in immediately.
Dominic drew his Sig Sauer P226 from his shoulder holster, his slate-gray eyes scanning the perimeter, his body shielding Clara completely.
"Stay here," Dominic ordered, his voice laced with lethal fury.
"Wait," Clara whispered, catching his wrist.
Dominic looked down.
From the hidden interior pocket of her velvet gown—a pocket she had secretly sewn in just in case a wardrobe malfunction or an emergency occurred—Clara pulled out a heavy, professional-grade stainless steel sewing awl. It was basically an ice pick with a wooden handle.
"If someone comes around this table," Clara said, her voice dead serious, "I’m going to blind them with this."
Dominic stared at the sewing tool, then looked up into her fierce, unyielding eyes. A dangerous, lethal smile touched his mouth.
"Remind me never to cross you in a divorce proceeding," Dominic murmured.
Before she could reply, Dominic rolled out from beneath the table, returning fire with lethal, pinpoint precision. Two sharp cracks echoed through the room. A heavy thud signaled the first assassin hitting the floor.
Chaos erupted in the hallway. Dominic’s enforcers swarmed the restaurant from the rear exits, returning heavy fire. Within thirty seconds, the shooting stopped.
Silence descended on the blood-spattered dining room, broken only by the distant wail of sirens outside.
Dominic crouched back down beside Clara, his hands frantically checking her shoulders and arms. "Are you hit? Did they touch you?"
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"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Clara panted, brushing a stray dark curl out of her face. "My dress is ruined at the hem, but I'm completely in one piece."
Dominic let out a ragged breath, pulling her tight against his chest in a fierce, protective embrace that completely shattered the facade of their fake marriage.
