Chapter 9
The muffled, rapid bursts of suppressed gunfire abruptly stopped, replaced by the chaotic screams of the terrified guests and the sickening thud of Winona’s body hitting the marble floor.
Eamon didn't hesitate. He knew the gunmen wouldn't stop with his aunt. They were a cleanup crew, and he was the primary target.
"Oriana, look at me," Eamon commanded, his deep voice tight and urgent, cutting through her panic.
She opened her expressive eyes, looking up at him from beneath the shelter of his broad shoulders. Her face was pale, dusted with powdered plaster from the shattered walls.
"Are you injured?" he asked, his hands moving quickly over her arms and shoulders to check for blood.
"No, I'm okay," she gasped, her American accent trembling. "What is happening?"
"We are leaving. Now," Eamon stated.
He reached into his tailored suit, drawing a heavy, dark pistol from his shoulder holster. He peeked around the edge of the mahogany table. The four masked gunmen were fanning out, their weapons tracking through the panicked crowd, searching for him.
"When I say go, you run to the kitchen doors. Do not stop. Do not look back. Do you understand?" Eamon asked, locking his cold, observant eyes with hers.
"I'm not leaving you," Oriana said fiercely, gripping his jacket.
"Do you want to get us both killed?" Eamon asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "Go!"
He surged upward from behind the table, exposing himself to the shooters. He didn't wait for them to acquire the target. Eamon fired three rapid, deafening shots. His weapon wasn't suppressed; the thunderous noise shocked the room, sending the remaining guests screaming louder.
Two of the masked gunmen took hits to the chest, their Kevlar vests absorbing the worst of it, but the kinetic impact threw them backward, shattering their formation.
"Run!" Eamon roared.
Oriana scrambled to her feet. She didn't look back. She sprinted across the marble floor, her flat shoes giving her traction as she dodged overturned chairs and terrified relatives.
The remaining two gunmen recovered instantly, tracking their weapons toward Eamon. But Eamon was already moving. He vaulted over the banquet table, using the heavy furniture for cover as bullets chewed through the wood where he had just been standing.
He fired twice more, striking one of the shooters in the knee. The man went down hard, his suppressed weapon clattering across the floor.
The final gunman turned his attention away from Eamon and spotted Oriana nearing the kitchen doors. He raised his weapon, lining up a shot on the fleeing housemaid.
Eamon’s heart stopped.
"Hey!" Eamon shouted, stepping entirely out of cover, standing tall in the center of the ruined banquet hall.
The gunman snapped his aim back to the Mafia boss.
Eamon didn't flinch. He raised his pistol, perfectly steady, the refined tattoos on his hands stark against the dark metal. He squeezed the trigger once.
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The bullet caught the gunman squarely in the shoulder, spinning him violently around before he collapsed into a pile of ruined silk flowers and broken crystal.
Eamon didn't wait to see if the men would get back up. He turned and sprinted toward the kitchen doors, bursting through the swinging hinges just seconds after Oriana.
