Chapter 5 - The First Real Bullet

Rain hammered the city as Leo locked up Marchetti's Table at midnight. Marco waited by the back door, scanning shadows, pistol bulging under his jacket."Boss," Marco whispered urgently, "Viper's desperate. Sent shooters. Get in the car."Leo adjusted his umbrella. "Shooters? For the health code violation? Overkill."A black SUV screeched around the corner. Tires smoked. Two men leaped out, masks down, guns drawn.Marco shoved Leo behind a dumpster. Bullets pinged off metal. Glass shattered—Leo's prized olive oil tins exploded in sparks."Stay down!" Marco yelled, returning fire wildly.Leo peeked out, frowning. "Hey! Those were imported from Tuscany!"One shooter stumbled, clutching his leg—Marco's lucky shot. The other turned, aiming straight at Leo's chest.Time slowed. Leo grabbed the nearest weapon: a heavy cast-iron skillet from the alley trash.He swung.CLANG. The gunman crumpled, unconscious, skillet denting his helmet.Marco gaped. "Boss... that was beautiful."Leo dusted his hands. "Ruined the non-stick coating. Call the police. And an ambulance—they might have concussions."Sirens wailed closer. Vincenzo Russo watched from a rooftop across the street, binoculars trembling."He... parried bullets with a frying pan," Vincenzo whispered to his phone. "The Reaper walks through gunfire."Police station, 2 AMDetective Hale paced the interrogation room. Leo sat calmly, sipping vending machine coffee. Elena waited outside with Sophie, glaring at uniforms."Mr. Marchetti," Hale began, "two known Viper associates attack you. You disarm them—with cookware. Explain."Leo shrugged. "Self-defense. Skillet was clean. Inspected it myself."Hale slammed photos down: the dented helmets. "These men say you whispered 'Tuscan justice' before striking.""I said 'imported from Tuscany.' About the oil they shot up."Across the table, the injured shooter nodded furiously from his cell. "He cursed us! Tuscan justice! We're doomed!"Hale rubbed his temples. "You're free to go. But this escalates. War's coming."Leo stood. "War? Over olive oil? Tell Viper—next batch's on sale."Home, 3 AMElena bolted the doors. Sophie clutched a rolling pin. Marco stood guard, eyes wide with reverence."Dad," Sophie whispered, "that was on live news. #ReaperFryingPan trending worldwide."Leo loosened his tie. "Exaggerated. Pass the leftovers—I'm starving."Elena locked eyes with him, serious for once. "Leo. The rumors. They're not funny anymore. Bullets flew tonight."Leo paused, then smiled faintly. "Elena. 15 years married. You think I'd let anyone ruin my kitchen?"She studied him. A flicker—did his eyes sharpen just now?Outside, helicopters thumped. Vincenzo mobilized every soldier. Hale called in SWAT. Reporters swarmed.The city prepared for war over a skillet swing.But in the Marchetti kitchen, Leo reheated lasagna, utterly unperturbed.For now.