Nico relays my orders as I get out of the car. Gavino follows and together my brother and I stalk across the parking lot toward the drab little building. No windows, just a pair of big fake oak doors and a ratty red rope like they’re trying to make this seedy joint nicer than it is.
Other men appear from other cars scattered all over. Men I’d trust my life to. Men that have been fighting and killing for the Bruno Famiglia for generations. Men that will burn this place to the ground in retribution.
Nico catches up. “In and out,” he says. “We’ll set fire to the place when we’re done to help clean up the mess. No time for a deep cleansing. We’ll make sure any girls left behind get out before they burn to death.”
“Nice and easy,” I say, slapping Gavino on the shoulder. “You good?”
He nods but his hands are trembling. He holds his gun loosely, just the way I showed him. He doesn’t want to tense up now and accidentally pull the trigger before we’re inside. There’ll be enough time to shoot soon.
I draw my weapon once we’re on the sidewalk and a few feet from the door. Three guys from Team A meet us there, dressed in black and holding submachine guns. Hard fuckers, men with steel in their spines and venom in their blood. They pause only long enough to get a nod from me before they rip the door open and we storm inside.
The club’s dim, though it’s silent, the club music gone, the stage empty. Four guys sit at the bar plus the bartender nearby wiping glasses, and all of them look over as a mob of armed and body-armored killers flood into their midst. It’s almost comedic, the looks on their faces, the confusion. One bald fucker dives to the floor like that’ll help. Another guy, big and beefy with shoulders like a bull, reaches for a weapon in his jacket. Much too slow. Two more only sit and stare, their beers held up to their faces like they’re mid-drink. The bartender stands staring with his mouth open still cleaning a glass like it matters. He’s got long hair tied into a bun on the top of his head and a little bowtie at his throat. Fucker’s got no clue what’s coming.
It’s a slaughter. We open fire and kill all five of the guys without asking any questions. The guy on the floor gets lit up, bullets ripping his flesh to pieces. Gavino’s calm as he shoots, his face a neutral mask of pure calm, and I’m proud of my brother—it isn’t an easy thing to do, killing men in cold blood this way. But it’s what we must do if we’re going to keep control of the city.
There’s a loud bang and more gunshots from the back of the club as my other teams breach the back door and start killing. I don’t know how many guys are back there, but they’re all dead now.
Once the main room is clear, I head forward and go through the pockets of each dead bastard: they’re all armed. All of them are soldiers. They knew what it meant joining this life. They understood the risks and now they paid for it.
“We got the right place,” I say, shoving one unfortunate bastard over to the side. His body hits the floor with a dull thud.
The back team comes forward led by a soldier named Luis Ribot. “Three more in the back plus two scared girls,” he says, squinting at the guys at the bar. “Eight total then. We’ll make sure the ladies won’t talk before we release them.”
“Federov?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nobody matching the description.”
I wipe my face, pacing back and forth. I’m fucking jittery and amped up on adrenaline, but there’s nothing else to do now. The whole point was to catch them unaware and slaughter them like animals, and that’s exactly what we did—but there’s no release for me now. No justice, no revenge. Federov wasn’t here, only a bunch of his guys. That’s good, it’ll show strength, but it’s not good enough.
“Light it up,” I say and gather Gavino. His gun’s away and he’s not shaking anymore. He looks positively elated.
“Is it always that easy?” he asks, running a hand compulsively through his hair.
“No, unfortunately. You happened to come along for a good one.” I grin at him, proud that he’s taking this so well. My brothers are strong, and it lightens the load on my shoulders just a touch knowing that they’ll step up if I’m gone.
Gavino laughs, glancing at the corpses and all the blood, his eyebrows raised like, if this is good then I don’t want to see bad, and he’s right, he doesn’t.
The guys start spreading gasoline all over. I walk behind the bar and smash bottles. The alcohol will help it all burn. Gavino joins in with gusto. I wonder if the bartender was a part of Federov’s crew or if he was an innocent bystander. Not much I can do about it now, but the idea does disturb me: maybe he was some kid working nights to earn money to get through school. I could flip him over and check his pockets, but I leave him where he is.