I crouched down, hiding in the only cover I had from the onslaught of rapid fire shooting around me and past me, but never hitting me. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew that I should have never taken the job of being a journalist and throwing myself directly into the action. But I was eighteen when I thought it would be such a fantastic idea, what did I know? The only thing I wanted to do was travel the country and see the world, this was definitely not what I signed up for.

How did I even get here? A warehouse in New York, of course, it had to be abandoned and of course, I had to have wrong intel, and of course, there had to be a shoot out. It must have been gang related, what else could it have possibly been? I don't know if it is just me but luck always seemed to run out for me, I could not think of a time where my luck has ever been remotely good.

I turned to the side of me, I saw a door. The distance was far but it was manageable, the only thing that made this ten times harder was the hurricane of shots, which sounded random. I could just wait it out, but if I wait it out, how long will it be until they find me? Whoever these people are.

Anything for the scoop right? Well, the scoop was about to get me killed.

Multiple scenarios were racing through my head but they all ended in me getting a bullet in between my eyes. My father always warned me about these people, these were the kind of people that took no prisoners. If you saw too much, the only thing next you would be seeing is the inside of a coffin. I remember him telling me this, his face held no amusement, he didn't even blink. He meant what he said, every single word of it.

I picked up my hands and slammed them over my ears, I didn't want to hear the gunshots that never seemed to want to end. I had to make a run for it, it was now or never. I picked up my feet and ran to the right, making sure that my body was covered by metal columns of the warehouse holding the structure together. That was going to be my barrier. It seemed to work, I was crossing the distance from where I previously was to the door that would lead to my freedom. Closer. And closer. Until I practically collapsed onto the metal frame, that felt cold to the touch. Internally I screamed, my luck was finally looking up. I guess it paid to have a father as a policeman, he would never let me grow up without maintaining my fitness and having at least some level of self defense. But no amount of physical combat or self defense could protect you against guns or in this case what was in them, bullets.

Blindly my hand scoured the door, until I connected with the door knob. Again, another victory. I tugged on the knob. Once. Nothing, twice. It still didn't budge. Crap, crap, crap. I was stuck here. I turned around, sliding my back down against the door to the ground beneath me. I was finished, they would find me and end me.

I knew I had to look up and see if there was another exit way, but I couldn't get my eyes to open. If they were shut then that meant that nothing was happening, that the shouts in foreign languages weren't there and the weapons that could end my life weren't firing in random directions. But I had to, I had to open my eyes. They fluttered open, the scene in front of me was pure anarchy.

The barrier that I was hiding under before blocked my view of the multitude of men in front of me. The distance between me and then made things slightly unclear but I could see make them out. They were dressed in clean cut suits, and a style of cap on their heads that looked like a fedora. Big, very big guns were clasped in their hands. I knew those guns, Tommy guns. My dad would always show me restricted pictures of crime scenes of mafia men and those were the guns they always seemed to carry. That was right before an enemy of theirs would put a bullet in their brain. But that meant, this shootout, it had to be mafia. But that didn't make any sense they didn't operate like this, only low grade gangs operated like this. The mafia were always clean, meticulous, organized with their crime. That is why it is called organized crime. A shoot out in bright day light was just not their style. There had to be something bigger going on.

There it was, my journalist brain. Always speaking sweet nothings into my head and getting me into situations that I did not want to be in. There was a part of me that wanted to stay safe, protected in a comfortable house, with a caring boyfriend and a nine to five job. But there was anything part of me, the more subtle, dominant part that wanted to know more, that thirsted for information, especially when it was not by the book. "I need to find out what is going on." I whispered to myself and I picked myself off the ground and edged closer to the shooting. Was I crazy? Probably. Was I stupid? Definitely.

I crept closer and closer until the gunshot were crystal clear and that is when I saw them. It wasn't clear from a distance and the position I was previously in, but it was diamond clear now. There was a subtle difference in the color of their suits. One side was grey and the other side was charcoal black. Subtle, but it was possible to distinguish if you paid attention to detail. Perks of being a journalist, it was practically my job to pay attention to detail.

I was right, Tommy guns and from what I could tell pistols. They had old school mafia mentality with modern day crimes. But one thing was very obvious the men with the grey suits were winning and the men in the black were dropping like flies, blood oozing and spitting out of them from different directions.

God, was that going to be me next?

A man erupted from the back of the crowd of the men in grey, they parted for him like Moses parted the Red Sea. He just exuded an aura of confidence and power around him. He was the leader. The Don, I remember my father would call them, the person that was 'the family.' They called all the shots and everyone answered to them. But I also remember that he said they rarely get their hands dirty, that most crime scenes would just be filled with their men. Then what was he doing here?

The lights were dim in the warehouse, there were only streaks of daylight peeking through from the faded out windows, I could hear the trains running and screeching in the distance, even though the sound of the firing drowned them out.

I couldn't make out his face, it was too dark and his fedora was tipped all the way down that I was surprised he could even see where he was going. But the man stood in front of his men in grey and the shooting stopped from both sides.

The small number of men in black still standing, at the instance, they saw him, they dropped their guns to the ground. Their hands suspended up in the air as a sign of their surrender, one of them stumbled forwards, one of his hands partially clutching the left side of his body, whilst the other was projected in the air. "Please, Lorenzo, have mercy on us. We were just following orders." Fear was evident in his voice, I could hear the audible trembling shaking his vocal chords and consequently, it was murking up what he was saying, but I knew the intention and the fear behind his pleads. Even though he survived the shoot out, the leader, whoever that man was, Lorenzo. Lorenzo was going to kill him regardless.

There was a pause, no one said anything. Even though Lorenzo was blocked from my view, I could still see him. Or at least imagine the type of expression he would have on his face. I knew men like him. Powerful, dangerous, blood thirsty men. I am sure he wanted to see him grovel and beg, it was an ego boost for them. And I could imagine just now, Lorenzo having a permeant sadistic smile on his face. "It is the Don to you." His voice was everything that I imagined and more, it was deep. The type of deep that would make other women weak in their knees, but I knew that power behind that voice and it brought nothing good, it was something to be feared, not admired. And the huskiness of it, it was almost intoxicating to hear, but I knew better. He was not someone to mess around with. I was attracted to danger, but not this type of danger. "Okay," He said after a while, he seemed to be deep in thought. "Say if I do grant you leniency and I do spare your life. Would you swear allegiance to me and my family and be a part of my men?"

It was the same injured and bloody man that spoke, the rest of them seemed to cower behind him. "Are you would spare our lives as a result?" I could only see the fedora tip down as if to mimic a nod. The wounded man turned his head around, glancing at his friends. They seemed to share a sort of hidden language amongst themselves. Something that was not spoken and could only be communicated with eyes and expressions and faces. "Then yes, we would plead our allegiance to you. Willing."

"Without hesitation?" Lorenzo asked.

The man nodded. "Yes, Don." He knelt down on the dirty ground below, it was a sign of submission and I could tell Lorenzo was loving it.

"So you would betray your family, your blood." There was a drop in his voice, and nothing good was behind it. I was scared, there was no emotion of any sort behind his words. Nothing. "And then you think that you can swivel your way to me and I would what? Accept you with open arms. I do not want, nor do I need any traitors or rats in my family.  I would die alongside and with my men. And so should you." Before the bloody man could reply, he drew out his gun and unloaded a round of bullets, directly through the man and all those that surrounded him, until it was just him and his own men in grey left.

The onslaught I saw triggered something in me, and I was winded. Because of shock most of all, but also because of fear. A very audible gasp left my gaping mouth and instantly as it leaked out, I slammed a hand over my mouth. Forcing my back against the wall, trying to conceal myself the best way I could. I was just facing a blank wall, I couldn't see them anymore and neither did I want to. It was silent, for such so long that I had thought that they left, or that they didn't hear me.

But they had to. I could hear every sound that left my lip, I knew I was heard.