Chapter 4 - The Price of Loyalty and a Mother's Defense
The deafening cracks of suppressed tactical gunfire echoed sharply inside the confined space of the Copper Kettle, sounding like heavy thunder trapped inside a wooden box.
The three Vulov enforcers who had just breached the front entrance never even had a chance to raise their weapons.
Hit squarely in their tactical vests and shoulders by precise, professional fire, they staggered backward through the shattered doorway, collapsing heavily into the snow-drifted parking lot.
Dark blood instantly stained the pristine white snow around the threshold.
“Hold fire! Check the perimeter!” Elias barked sharply, keeping his submachine gun raised and pointed toward the blinding whiteout outside.
Two of Gabriel's operatives rushed forward, kicking the remaining pieces of the shattered wooden door completely out of the frame and taking up defensive positions on either side of the entrance.
Inside the diner, the smell of cordite and burned gunpowder instantly overpowered the scent of stale coffee and grease.
Kalida stood frozen over booth 3, her arms spread wide to shield sleeping Toby, who stirred slightly at the loud concussive noise before settling back into his exhausted sleep.
She slowly lowered the heavy metal ketchup dispenser, her chest heaving as adrenaline rushed through her veins.
Gabriel Mercer stood a few feet away, leaning heavily against the edge of booth 5.
His right hand held the Beretta pistol steady, while his left hand continued to press the crimson-soaked towel against his side.
His breathing was shallow, ragged, and labored.
“Boss, the front breach is contained,” Elias reported quickly, jogging back toward the booth with his eyes darting toward the windows.
“But the flatbed truck is reversing around the side of the building. They're positioning to hit the kitchen loading dock and cut off our rear exit.”
Gabriel closed his eyes for a brief second, fighting off a wave of dizziness before speaking.
“Kyle, take three men and secure the loading bay corridor,” Gabriel ordered in a raspy, commanding whisper.
“Use the walk-in freezer as secondary cover if they try to use explosives on the back door.”
“On it, Boss,” Kyle acknowledged crisply, motioning for three operatives to follow him toward the kitchen swinging doors.
As the men rushed past, Gabriel slowly slid back down onto the vinyl bench of booth 5, his knees finally buckling under the severe blood loss.
Kalida didn't hesitate.
She marched right past the armed guards, grabbed a fresh stack of linen towels from the counter, and hurried over to booth 5.
“Move your hand,” Kalida commanded bluntly, pushing Gabriel's fingers away from his side with surprising strength.
She pressed the clean, folded linen directly over the jagged bullet wound with firm, unyielding pressure.
Gabriel hissed sharply through his clenched teeth, his dark eyes snapping open to meet hers.
“That hurts like hell, Ms. Ingles,” Gabriel muttered through a tight grimace.
“If you want to live long enough to drink another cup of my terrible coffee, you're going to have to endure a little pain,” Kalida retorted without missing a beat, pressing harder to stem the arterial flow.
“Elias, bring me that medical kit from behind the counter right now!”
Elias blinked in sheer astonishment, looking from Gabriel to the fierce single mother barking orders in the middle of a mafia shootout.
Without a word of argument, Elias jogged to the counter, grabbed the metal first-aid kit Kalida had prepared earlier, and handed it to her.
Kalida snapped the metal latches open with a sharp click.
Inside lay rolls of sterile gauze, antiseptic wipes, heavy medical sutures, and a bottle of high-proof whiskey left over from the diner's old liquor license days.
“Are you a trained paramedic on top of running a roadside diner?” Gabriel asked, watching her nimble fingers sort through the medical supplies with practiced efficiency.
“No,” Kalida answered grimly, pouring a generous splash of the amber whiskey directly over the bloody wound to sterilize it, making Gabriel groan audibly in agony.
“When you raise a clumsy six-year-old boy in a town with a hospital forty miles away and no functioning ambulance service, you learn how to stitch up gasps and bandage broken bones yourself.”
She grabbed a curved surgical needle and a spool of black nylon thread from the kit.
“Hold his shoulders down, Elias,” Kalida ordered coldly.
“If he moves while I'm stitching this muscle tissue back together, I'm going to sew him straight to the vinyl booth.”
Elias actually grinned, placing a heavy, gloved hand firmly on Gabriel's right shoulder to keep him pinned in place.
“Do as the lady says, Boss,” Elias chuckled darkly.
“You've survived federal indictments and syndicate hits, don't let a diner owner take you out with a sewing kit.”
Gabriel let out a low, gravelly laugh that quickly turned into a sharp cough.
“Go ahead, Ms. Ingles,” Gabriel whispered, locking his intense gaze onto her eyes to distract himself from the agonizing pain.
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“Let's see how well you handle a needle.”
Outside, the heavy thud of boots against the loading dock metal stairs echoed loudly through the back kitchen, followed immediately by the sharp, concussive boom of a breaching charge blowing the rear service door off its hinges.
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