Free Sons of Thunder by Susan May Warren Page B

don’t hear me.”
    Her blue eyes sheened with tears as she looked up at him. “Please, Markos, quit this job. I don’t need a coat. I don’t even need my own room. I miss being with you and Dino. I—”
    The picture window exploded.
    Markos threw his arm around Sofia, flattened her to the ground.
    Shots peppered the room, shattering the canisters of candy on the counter, splintering the mahogany counter, shredding the padded stools. Markos scooted Sofia to the bank of booths, curled with her under a table.
    Then bullets destroyed the cigar box display, chipped at the chandelier until it crashed to the floor. Glass splashed across the polished wood. Sofia screamed, and Markos slapped his hand over her mouth. “Shh. They’ll hear you.”
    Then, just as abruptly as it began, the shooting stopped. Motors revved on the street, peeling away.
    Markos didn’t move. Just held Sofia’s shaking body to himself, pinching his own fear back. He closed his eyes, listening to glass drop from the front window, the sounds of feet thundering down the hallway above, Sofia’s soft sobs. “Shh, don’t cry. I’ll protect you.”
    But behind his words, he heard hers— something inside you feels—dark. Indeed. Even now darkness filled his chest. Bracing, hot, like a batch of strong hooch. It seeped through him, calming, as if he’d surrendered to a darkness he’d been fighting too long.
    Probably even since he left Zante.
    He held her close. Drew in the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, so painfully familiar, as Jimmy’s men burst into the room.
    “It’ll be okay, Sofia. I promise.” The words tumbled out, soft at first, gathering heat, power. “I promise.”
    She rolled in his arms, staring up at him, her eyes wide. Then without a word, she untangled herself from his arms, climbed out from under the table, and left him lying in the destruction of Zante’s.

    Dino!
    He kicked through the thin jaws of the cave’s mouth, surfaced fast. Gulped a breath. Dino!
    Markos’s own voice echoed through the dark chamber, even as he thrashed in the water. He clawed for the surface.
    The cool waters of the tunnel tugged at his feet. A wave rushed in, threw him against the rocks. Light exploded in his head, even as he went under again, gulped water.
    Markos! His name sliced through the darkness, someone at the other end. Markos!
    The current tugged, sucking him in even as he fought it.
    Markos!
    He opened his eyes, breathing hard, sweating, despite the chill of the room. He listened for the voice.
    Nothing, except Dino’s even breathing from the cot near the wall. Markos turned in his bed, the springs squeaking, his body quivering with the freshness of the dream, the sound of his name, as if being called from a distance, echoing through the darkness of the cave.
    He stared at the fingers of moonlight tearing at his ceiling.
    When he woke again, morning spilled into the room from the small, grimy window over the bed. Dino had vanished, his bedclothes and blanket in a tumble on his cot.
    Markos expected to hear the sounds of delivery trucks, maybe the aroma of coffee, frying eggs on the griddle.
    Pulling on his pants, he snapped his suspenders onto his shoulders, slipped his feet into his saddle shoes, and headed downstairs.
    The chaos in the restaurant seemed even more damning in the daylight—shards of glass glittering on the floor like knives, tables pocked and splintered, chairs overturned, the glass countertop shattered.
    The coat box sat on the counter, drilled with holes. He couldn’t bear to look inside.
    Uncle Jimmy sat in a back booth, nursing a cup of coffee with a man Markos didn’t know. He motioned him over. “Markos, I want you to meet my friend Joe.”
    Tall and thin, with a short crew cut, Joe looked Markos over with a pinched look, earthy eyes. He drummed his fingers on the table, as if tapping out words to himself like the rat-a-tat of the Tommy guns that had leveled Zante’s. Finally, in broken Greek,