The door banged open, admitting two swaggering Mafia boys in pinstriped suits and Trilby hats cocked on their heads. Both toted Thompson machine guns. The taller goon took in the scene with an exaggerated smirk.
“Looks like we got here just in time, Donny.” He sniggered. “Looks like Mick can’t handle his moll. Whaddya say, doll? You gonna be a good girl or do we hafta put a little lead in ya to get you to cooperate?”
His face crunched when struck by a flying table leg. His Thompson erupted as he fell, sending a blaze of bullets across the room. His partner Donny cursed and ducked for cover from the ricocheting slugs. I dropped to the floor as the hot lead whizzed dangerously over my head.
When I looked up, Donny gurgled in fear. Natalie had disarmed him, taken his Thompson and used it to strangle him from behind. His eyes widened for a second before she gave the weapon a savage twist. His neck crackled. Natalie let his limp body fall to the floor.
I dove for the Mean Ol’ Broad. The trail of gunfire that trailed me was faster. I felt fire flare in my shoulder and leg before the blaze of slugs stopped. My limbs refused to respond as the agony flared. I took a painful glance at Natalie. She yanked a spare drum magazine from Donny’s belt and reloaded her weapon.
Tires squealed outside, accompanied by the sound of yelling voices as the windows flooded with the glare of headlights. Natalie finished reloading and crouched by the window, peering from the cracks in the blinds.
“Looks like more of your friends. I’ll deal with you after I take care of them.” She sent an offhanded burst of gunfire my direction. The slugs missed, but tore apart the china cabinet behind me. The heavy frame groaned agonizingly as it buckled. I could only stare in disbelief as the plates and dishes upended on my head.
Followed by the entire cabinet.
Things got hazy at that point. I recall blacking out, but it must have been only for a few seconds. Lightning was the first thing to greet me when I came to. Paparazzi-style flashes filled the room, along with the nonstop rumble of heavy gunfire. Crippled by bullet wounds and half-buried in china, I could only turn my head.
It was perhaps the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.
Natalie stood in the middle of the living room, toting a Thompson in either hand. They blazed as she unloaded on the Mafioso. Windows exploded in glittering shards, slugs whined across the room from their return fire. The walls were perforated with hundreds of holes that streamed light from the cars outside. Chunks of drywall and insulation drifted in the air. Natalie’s mouth was wide open in a furious roar, her face flushed, her eyes gleaming. Men screamed as they died in the streets outside. Seconds ticked by impossibly slow while Natalie fired as though she would never stop. She faced the impossible odds with an air of exhilaration, like she knew she couldn’t die.
My arm outstretched. My fingers snapped twice. The tiny Ruger hissed as it released from the automated sleeve holster to my open hand in less than a second. My thumb released the safety as I aimed and squeezed the trigger.
All I heard was thunder.
“He’s still alive.”
I groaned as arms dragged me from the rubble and set me to an upright position. My eyes slowly opened. I recognized No-Nose Nate immediately. His customary smirk was replaced by a look of sheer bewilderment. Probably at the fact I was still alive. I scanned the room. Suited Mafioso wandered the ruins of the living room, slightly dazed expressions on their faces. A massive hole still smoldered in the ceiling where I unloaded the Ruger’s explosive load, dumping everything upstairs on Natalie’s head.
Scars stood a few paces away, looking as skeletal and forbidding as ever. He gave the tiniest nod when his gaze met mine. Moe Flacco stood next to him, shaking his head as he stared at his new prisoner of war.
Natalie’s face was half-covered in blood from a scalp wound. Her combat suit protected her from damage that would have killed a normal person, but she still didn’t appear to be in the best of shape. She repeatedly blinked and tottered back and forth as if fighting the lure of unconsciousness. She had been raised to her knees with her hands cuffed behind her back.
“This is the person who killed ten of my soldatis? This… girl?”
Her bloody lips smiled. “This girl can do a lot more if you untie me. Go ahead — you’ll be amazed at how fast I can kill ten more of your useless outfit. Any rookie SS band would make mincemeat out of your whole crew in a few seconds.”
I could only shake my head in admiration. Her bold words weren’t just empty bravado — it was a reminder to Flacco, letting him know he wasn’t dealing with the average goon. If he made his move he might have to deal with the concentrated wrath of the Secret Service, the kind of heat no one in their right mind would want on their backs.
Except maybe Moe Flacco wasn’t in his right mind. His icy gaze betrayed no unease as he stared at her. “Sophia Flacco was my youngest child. You killed her.”
“That’s right.” Natalie spat a glob of blood on the floor. “I killed your precious daughter. I’ve killed daughters and sons and wives and husbands. So have you. What are you going to do — take me to some grindhouse and take your time with me?”
Moe held out an open hand. Scars stepped up and placed snub-nose magnum in it.
Moe checked the ammo clip. “We’re not comparing death notes. And I’m quite sure you hope I’ll try torturing you. That takes time. Time for someone to get sloppy, make a mistake. Give you the opportunity to use your deadly skills to escape. That’s not how this works. You should have done your research before you took my daughter’s life.” He snapped the cylinder back in place.
Natalie’s sneer spoke for her contempt. “You can’t kill me. I’m untouchable. You understand the principle. The payoff isn’t worth the consequences for you. Think about it, Flacco. This is bad business. You can benefit much more by securing my release. The Service will be in your debt.”
Moe didn’t say anything. He just stared her long enough for beads of sweat to slide down her face. Finally he leveled the handgun at her forehead. “Let me ask you a question, Ms. Secret Service. Right now, in this very moment — do you feel untouchable?”
Natalie glanced to where I sat against the splintered wall. Her demeanor was still calm, but the tension showed up in her voice. “Michael. Tell them this is a mistake.”
Moe’s eyes were cold enough to chill drinks with when he glanced my direction. “I let you clean up your mess last time, Mick. This is my mess. I’m cleaning it up this time.”
I lifted my arms to Flacco’s soldiers. “Give me a hand here, boys.”
She hissed my name. “Michael. Snap out of it. You can’t let this happen.”
It took every ounce of manhood I had to not scream in pain when they raised me up. I took a last look at Natalie. It was strange how I pitied her in that moment. After all she had done, after all I knew she was, I still didn’t want to see her die like that. But she dug that grave the moment she butchered Moe Flacco’s daughter. There was nothing I could do to change that.
“You cut them up, Natalie. You slashed their faces while they were still conscious and you enjoyed it. You could’ve kept this between us, but you chose to pull other people into it. Well, you live by your choices. And you die by your mistakes.” I turned away, supported by two of Moe’s soldatis.
Her voice followed me, thick with rage. “Go ahead and run, you coward. You’re not man enough to pull the trigger yourself, are you? Michael. I know you can hear me. Michael. You’re all dead, you know that? Dead. You’re nothing but common thugs and murderers. You think you can cross over the Secret Service?” Her laughter bordered on hysteria. “I own you, Michael. You can’t survive without me. I order you to come back here now. Michael!”