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Groaning, Vincent grabbed his son’s arm and dragged him across the street. Carmine resisted at first, but he was too exhausted to put up a fight. Vincent took him to where Corrado stood in the darkness, with Dean huddled against the wall at his feet.
Corrado shook his head. “You must not have any sense of self-preservation left.”
“Fuck my life,” Carmine said. “She’s worth dying for.”
“And what happens when you die?” Corrado gave him a pointed look. “Your carelessness is going to get her killed. You’re in the fold now. You need to start thinking like one of us.”
Carmine shot his father a panicked look. “Whatever, I need to save her, that’s what I need to do.” Frazzled, he motioned toward Dean. “Who’s this?”
“He’s a friend,” Corrado said. “Although he’s more of a friend to Nunzio, it seems.”
“Wait, he’s in on this?” Carmine rushed forward and grabbed Dean by the collar. “She better not be hurt! What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her!” Dean said. “I haven’t seen her!”
“What the fuck do you mean you haven’t seen her?” Carmine snapped, slamming the boy against the building. “You took my girl from me, and I want her back!”
“He’s so much like you it’s disturbing,” Corrado said, glancing at Vincent as Carmine kicked Dean in the ribs.
“He’ll kill him,” Vincent warned.
Corrado grabbed Carmine, begrudgingly forcing him away. “Enough.”
Vincent helped Dean to his feet. “Where were you going?”
“Uh, food,” he said. “I was supposed to get food.”
The brush nearby ruffled. Carmine and Vincent reached for their weapons as a precaution, but Corrado didn’t move. He addressed the person without turning around. “Giovanni.”
“Corrado, Vincent,” Giovanni said, strolling up to them. “Nice to see you gentlemen again.”
Carmine looked at his uncle. “How did you know it was him?”
“I always know my surroundings,” Corrado said, his attention going back to Dean. “If you want me to show you any mercy, you’re going to walk inside and say you were jumped. Say some thugs stole your money and Squint’s keys. Understand?”
Dean staggered away as the four men positioned themselves beside the entrance. Vincent pulled his gun out as Carmine fidgeted, the tension coming from him intense. “You’re pissed at me, aren’t you? I had to do it. I needed to find her. I need her to be okay.”
“I don’t see how throwing your life away helps anything, but now isn’t the time for this.” He needed to remain calm, and dwelling on what his son did would get him riled up again. “We’re going to go in here and end this, and no matter what we find, we’ll deal with it.”
Within a matter of seconds, the door burst open and a vaguely familiar Russian man with blond hair rushed out. He froze, raising his gun as Corrado and Giovanni ducked inside the building, but Vincent was faster. Aiming, Vincent fired off a round that hit him square between the eyes. The back of his head exploded, blood splattering, and he slammed to the ground. Vincent grabbed the door and slipped inside, momentarily stunned by what he saw. People clamored and dodged flying bullets, the sound of most of the noise muffled by silencers. Carmine came in behind him, ducking to the side in the flurry of gunfire.
Corrado stood by the front door, firing at a cowering Ivan, while Squint hid behind a table a few feet away, loading a gun. Vincent fired a few shots as Squint finished and pointed his weapon to fire back. Vincent’s first two bullets barely missed as he shielded himself, but the third one struck Squint in the chest. A loud gasp escaped his mouth as he slumped backward.
Something nearby caught Vincent’s attention as a bullet whizzed right by him, grazing his neck. He flinched at the searing pain, giving a wounded Squint barely enough time to get the upper hand. He fired off some back-to-back rounds, a bullet ripping through Vincent’s left shoulder as more flew past him. His arm went numb, burning coursing through his upper body as his son screamed.
Vincent turned at the sound as Carmine grasped his right arm, blood flowing through his shirt. Carmine recovered and grabbed his gun as Vincent swung back around to Squint.
He had shot his son.
Firing quickly, Vincent took a few steps toward Squint, his vision narrowing with the flash of the gun barrel as he pumped bullet after bullet into him. Three slammed into Squint’s chest, piercing his heart. Horrid gasps tore from him as he struggled to breathe.
Vincent paused over Squint, glaring down at his incapacitated form. He tried to pull himself away, straining to get ahold of his gun, but the life faded from him. Vincent aimed at his head and stared him in the eyes, seeing not an ounce of fear in Squint’s expression as he stared back. Cold and heartless, even down to his last seconds. No remorse for what he had done.
“Arrivederci,” Vincent said.
There was a flash of fire in Squint’s eyes at the word as he picked up his gun. Vincent fired off rounds in succession, bullets ripping through his skull.
Squint’s finger squeezed the trigger as a knee-jerk reaction, and a bullet flew off to the side as his body violently shook. Vincent didn’t stop until the gun clicked, leaving the mangled form unrecognizable.
