Page 76 of Street of Dreams
Mr. Finestra smirked with irritation, then waved his hand with impatience at his men. “Put down your guns. He’s with the kid.”
Jake visibly relaxed, but Mac was still struggling to remain calm.
“You.” Mr. Finestra pointed a stubby finger at Mac. “What is so important that you needed to intrude on Family business?”
Mac shifted his eyes to Jake, unsure how to answer. He knew he couldn’t blurt out that he was in love with Jake in front of the mob, but he didn’t get a chance to answer because the half-closed door was kicked open, and a sweaty, red-faced Bruce King stood there with a gun in his hand.
Everyone raised their weapons again, including Jake.
“No!” Mac shouted, the moment he saw Jake aiming a weapon at his father.
Bruce’s head, and his gun, snapped in Mac’s direction. His face contorted with a mixture of disbelief and disgust, then turned to rage. He focused on Mac, forgetting that anyone else was in the room. “You? Again? You couldn’t just stay the fuck out of South Side, could you?” Bruce turned to Jake and glared, but kept the gun trained on Mac. “How fucking stupid are you? I told you not to fucking test me. I told you that if I ever found you with this cocksmoker again, he was fucking dead. Now I’m going to make good on that promise.”
Mac was thrown to the floor as a million bullets seemed to go off at once. His ears rang and sulfur burned his nostrils. Then it was quiet.
Jake was on top of him, while his face was pressed into the cold concrete floor.
“Are you all right?” Jake asked, pushing the hair out of Mac’s face and rolling off him.
Honestly, Mac had no idea. He couldn’t do more than stare at Jake with a blank expression as if in a state of shock. He listened to his heart beating in his ears and wondered if everyone else heard it as well.
“Hey.” Jake slapped Mac’s cheek lightly. “Snap out of it. Are you hit?” He ran a hand over Mac’s chest, arms, and back looking for a wound.
The spot of dark red blood spreading across the fabric on Jake’s shoulder jolted Mac out of his trance. “Oh my God. You’ve been shot.”
Jake held his forearm pressed against his side, but otherwise didn’t act as if he was in pain. “Don’t worry about me. Are you all right?”
“You’re bleeding!”
“It’s not that bad. I think it went straight through.”
Mac inspected Jake’s back and found an exit wound. “Oh my God!”
“It’s—” Jake looked around the room, which was busy with people moving. “Holy shit.”
Bullet casings covered the floor. One of Finestra’s men held his bicep while blood trickled through his fingers. Mac’s eyes dropped to the floor in front of the doorway, and he sucked in a deep breath. Bruce was lifeless, with multiple gunshots to the chest. “No! No!” Mac reached out and touched Jake’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Jake snapped. “Do you think I give a shit that this piece of garbage is dead? He would have killed you. I’m glad he’s dead.” He lowered his eyes, as if embarrassed, and spoke in a low voice. “I didn’t pull the trigger. I should have. I had a clear shot.”
Mac clutched Jake’s arm tighter. “You’re not a murderer.”
“It’s not murder if it’s to save someone’s life.” Jake slowly rose to his feet and approached the mob boss. “Excuse me, Mr. Finestra. I just want to apologize. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Jake said, humbly. “I take responsibility. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”
“Just stay out of the way,” Mr. Finestra replied. “We still have business to attend to here tonight.” He looked around the small office and put his hands on his head. “Madonna mia! Look at this mess! Clean it up!” he ordered, and his men jumped to attention. They carried Bruce out of the office by his arms and legs, but they didn’t get more than a few feet before a loud rumble made everyone turn toward the front of the building as the heavy roll-up garage door began to rise. A small box truck drove into the warehouse and stopped with its headlights on Finestra’s men. No one moved. A few seconds later, dozens of bikers, all with club patches on their backs, roared into the warehouse, and they looked pissed as fuck. The bikers quickly dismounted their motorcycles and drew their guns on the Finestra Family, who all responded in the exact same way. While both sides readied themselves for a violent faceoff, Jake very slowly and quietly pulled Mac to a back corner of the office and brought his finger to his lips.
“What the fuck is this? A set up?” one of the bikers demanded. “Why the fuck is Bruce King full of bullet holes?”
Salvatore Finestra walked calmly, without fear and without a weapon, up to the leader of the biker gang. All guns had him in their sightline with fingers on the trigger. “Bruce King has been . . . disposed of,” he said, with a casual wave of his hand. “All future dealings are with me. The Finestra Family now runs South Side.”
“Like hell they do,” someone shouted, and firearms went off like bombs on the fourth of July.
For the second time in a matter of minutes, Mac found himself face down on the floor with Jake shielding him. “What are you doing? You’re hurt!” he shouted, over the noise, but he barely heard himself. He’d never been this close to gunfire, and his ears were still ringing from the first round of bullets. Plus, his heart was pounding so loudly that it filled his head.
“Be quiet and stay down!” Jake shouted back.
Bullets rained down on the warehouse in an explosive exchange that seemed to go on forever, without any sign of slowing or coming to a halt. Until, finally, over the blast of gunfire, sirens wailed in the background and red and blue lights filled the warehouse. Shouts blared through a loudspeaker from outside as police demanded everyone to cease fire and drop their weapons, but the spray of bullets continued as the bikers turned and fired at the cops. More sirens and police vans appeared within seconds, and SWAT invaded the warehouse.
The bikers scattered but the Finestra Family stayed and placed their guns on the floor in surrender. Mac inched closer, pulling himself along on his elbows, to get a better look at the shootout, but Jake pulled him back.
