Chapter 11 - ANGEL ON THE CATWALK
The red laser beam danced ominously across Lily’s white dress.
Victor’s world slowed down to a crawling, agonizing freeze.
Panic flared in the small girl's dark eyes as she noticed the red dot flickering on her chest.
Parents in the front rows gasped as a heavily armed man vaulted over the wooden orchestra barricade.
Victor didn't care about the screams, the commotion, or the chaos erupting behind him.
His eyes were locked on the dark silhouette crouching high up in the steel roof rafters.
The sniper’s finger tightened on the trigger above.
Victor drew his suppressed pistol mid-air, firing three rapid shots upward into the darkness.
The suppressed shots sounded like quiet coughs against the blaring wooden floorboards.
The bullets struck the catwalk support cables, sending bright sparks flying across the dark stage.
The assassin lost his balance, his shot wildly veering off course into the ceiling plaster.
Lily dropped to her knees, covering her head as dust and plaster rained down.
Victor hit the stage floor, sliding on his knees to put his body directly between the child and the rafters.
"Stay down, Lily!" Victor roared over the rising panic of the audience.
Parents scrambled toward the exit doors in a wave of absolute terror.
The sniper above recovered his balance and swung his assault rifle toward Victor.
Victor fired two more precise shots into the sniper's shoulder and chest.
The assassin screamed, tumbling headfirst off the thirty-foot high metal catwalk.
His body crashed onto the wooden stage with a sickening thud, coming to a dead stop.
Victor immediately scooped Lily into his arms, checking her furiously for any injuries.
"Are you hit? Look at me, little heart, are you hurt?" Victor demanded, his hands trembling.
Lily shook her head fast, her small face buried deep into his shoulder, sobbing softly.
"I... I finished my song, Daddy," she whispered through her heavy tears.
Victor squeezed her tight against his chest, his dark eyes burning with pure, unyielding rage.
"You were perfect," Victor whispered into her hair. "You were the best one up there."
He turned to exit through the backstage curtain, but a line of armed men blocked the hallway.
Four mercenaries in black tactical gear stepped out, holding assault rifles aimed right at him.
Behind them stood Don Salvatore, wearing a black trench coat, holding a heavy revolver.
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Salvatore smiled cruelly, his golden tooth glinting under the stage lights.
"End of the play, Victor," Salvatore mocked, his voice echoing in the empty hall.
