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So caught up in my own horror, I didn’t feel the bristling energy from my grandmother until it was too late. She dug in her handbag, let out a huff of distaste, and shoved the door we’d been hunched behind open.

“Nobody move!” Nonna shouted, pointing a pistol—an honest to goodness pistol—at the half dozen men inside.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Jimmy? What’s going on?” Nonna demanded, taking in the scene.

There were two men tied to chairs, with swollen faces and blood running from their noses. The other four men stood around them. One had brass knuckles.

“Just entertaining a couple of unsatisfied customers, Signora Finnocchiaro,” one of the tied men croaked.

“He’s a welcher!” one of the men standing bellowed. He had a snake tattoo slithering up his neck, and his body shook with rage.

Nonna tsked. “Jimmy doesn’t welch. If you lost money here, it was a bad wager.”

“Listen, lady.” Snake tattoo took a step forward. “This ain’t none of your business. Get out.”

The flicker of pride in Nonna’s voice should have been a warning. “No. The Cove is my home, and I don’t tolerate bad manners here.”

With that, her gnarled finger squeezed the trigger.

I screamed. My hands clapped over my mouth, and I fell into the doorframe.

She shot him.

My grandmother shot that man!

Three more shots rang out.

The room began to spin. I wasn’t able to gulp down oxygen fast enough to process what was happening. The four sickening thumps of flesh hitting the ground rang out like dominos falling. Something metallic perfumed the air.

And in the midst of the chaos, my ancient nonna scuttled across the floor, knife in hand, and began to cut the men free from their chairs.

Her voice was muted. Fuzzy and far away. I didn’t remember going underwater, but nothing was clear anymore.

“And call Don Ravello. Now, Jimmy!” Nonna barked.

“Your granddaughter is going to pass out,” the second man observed, rubbing his wrists.

Time must have had gaps, because suddenly my grandmother was in my face. “Rose? Rosetta?”

Her withered hands cupped my face. They were warm…they felt nice.

And they’d just taken four lives.

“Just breathe, dolcezza,” she coaxed. “You’re safe here. No one will hurt you in the Cove.”

***

My first instinct was to run.

But as my hands curled around the cup of steaming peppermint hot chocolate and the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby singing about a white Christmas played over the café’s speakers, I knew how foolish that plan actually was.

We had nowhere to go. We had no money with which to survive a single month.

The only choice was to stay in this crazy town with my psychotic grandmother. Who was currently nibbling on a biscotti and swinging her tiny feet that didn’t touch the floor.

“Ah! There’s the don,” she said happily and gave a little wave of her hand.