“Your mistake was not doing your homework,” Riley whispered into Dominic’s ear, a fraction of an inch from the artery. A tiny bead of blood, a crimson jewel against the dark steel, formed on his skin.
He couldn’t swallow. His heart banged against the frozen metal, trapped in the terrifying, humiliating reality that he was completely at the mercy of the “soft” woman he had come to destroy.
Chapter 6: A Cold Room for Hot Blood
“You should have checked your blind spot,” Riley growled from the darkness, her thick fingers tightening around the handle of the forged-steel cleaver.
Paulie froze. His eyes went wide as the massive woman loomed out of the shadows, her immense frame blocking out the faint neon light from the street. He raised his hands instinctively, entirely unprepared for her terrifying speed. But before Riley could bring the heavy blade down to split his skull, a sharp, mechanical clack echoed right behind her.
“Drop the knife, or I paint this display case with your brains,” a wiry voice hissed.
It was the second intruder. He had circled the butcher block while Paulie was distracted. The freezing, perforated barrel of a silenced submachine gun was now pressed firmly against the base of Riley’s spine.
Riley didn’t panic. She calculated.
Her father had taught her to survive first, and slaughter second. A cleaver was devastating in close quarters, but her 260-pound frame couldn’t twist faster than a 9mm bullet exiting a chamber at point-blank range. Slowly, deliberately, Riley uncurled her fingers. She let the heavy cleaver clatter onto the sawdust-covered tiles.
“Smart pig,” Paulie sneered, his bravado returning in a violent rush.
He stepped forward, jamming the barrel of his heavy .45 caliber pistol painfully into Riley’s ribs. He leaned in close, his breath smelling of stale coffee and cheap whiskey.
“Look at the big bad butcher now,” Paulie taunted, his eyes wild with adrenaline. “You humiliated me in front of the boss. You think you’re untouchable because Castelli gave you a pass?”
“I think you are standing in my kitchen, Paulie,” Riley replied, her voice completely flat. “And you are tracking mud onto my clean floor.”
Paulie’s face twisted in rage. He raised the butt of his pistol, preparing to strike her across the jaw.
“Enough playing, Paulie!” the Irish gunman barked, stepping to the side so he had a clear angle on Riley’s broad back. “Declan didn’t send us here to settle your petty ego trips. He wants the information Arthur Hayes hid. He wants the O’Cannon ledgers.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Riley stated calmly, keeping her large, muscular arms raised slightly. “My father broke down cows. He didn’t keep books for the Irish.”
“You’re a liar,” the Irishman snapped. “Move. Into the back.”
Paulie shoved his gun harder into her ribs, forcing her to walk. Riley moved deliberately through the pitch-black prep area. She didn’t stumble. As they navigated past the stainless steel tables and hanging chains, she took a mental inventory of her shop. She knew exactly where the magnetic knife strips were. She knew exactly how many steps it took to reach the heavy meat grinder.
“If you shoot me here, the noise triggers the silent alarm in the bakery and the flower shop,” Riley warned, her voice echoing softly off the tiled walls. “I told Castelli, I protect my own. That alarm goes straight to a detective who doesn’t like the mafia.”
“You think we care about a few cops?” Paulie laughed, a harsh, grating sound in the dark. “By tomorrow morning, the Castellis are done. Declan Fitzpatrick is taking over Southie.”
“You’re making a mistake, Paulie,” Riley noted, glancing over her broad shoulder at him. “Dominic Castelli relies on loyalty. Declan relies on fear. When you outlive your usefulness to the Irish, they’ll put a bullet in your back.”
“The guy holding the gun writes the rules, sweetheart,” Paulie said, his finger twitching on the trigger.
They reached the back of the shop. Looming before them in the shadows was the heavy, industrial insulated door of the walk-in freezer. This was exactly where Riley wanted to be. It was her absolute domain.
At this exact terrifying moment, most people would be begging for their lives or panicking wildly. Riley was silently plotting a brutal counter-attack. Could you keep your composure with two loaded guns aimed at your back?
Paulie slammed his fist into the heavy metal release bar of the freezer door.
The industrial seal broke with a wet, sucking sound. The blast of sub-zero air was instant and shocking, biting violently into the warm humidity of the Boston night. A thick cloud of freezing vapor spilled out onto the floor.
“In you go, butterball,” Paulie commanded, shivering immediately in his thin jacket as he pointed the gun at her head.
“You don’t want to go in there,” Riley said softly, her dark eyes locking onto his.
“Move!” the Irishman yelled, kicking her sharply in the back of the knee.
Riley let herself stumble forward, crossing the threshold into the crystalline haze of the freezing vault. She welcomed the biting cold. By morning, someone would be leaving this freezer in a body bag. And she knew exactly who it was going to be.
