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My men take in this development without batting an eye, weapons already drawn.
“Need something, Don Vitelli?” the man at the front of the quartet plants his feet wide in a defensive posture, finding me unerringly even in the darkness. He’s tall and gangly, but he carries himself with an air of authority. He’s clearly the ringleader of the pack.
A ripple of shock goes through me. Not only were they tipped off about tonight’s operation, they knew I would be among my men, meaning it’s a fresh tip because I made the split second decision to join them less than an hour ago.
And these goons are stupid or careless enough to let me know that they recognize me.
It could mean either of two things. One, I’m not supposed to leave here alive. Or two, they want me to distrust my men enough to put a bullet through each of their skulls for betraying me.
A myriad of calculations zip through my mind, adjusting and readjusting for our current situation.
I keep my voice low and shoulders loose even as adrenaline surges through my veins. “How about this, coglione? Romano’s two other warehouses are rigged to the fucking teeth with explosives. If I’m not out of here in ten minutes, it’d be like the fucking Fourth of July for him.”
They look at each other in surprise, and their leader shuffles slightly, no doubt wondering if it’s worth calling my bluff. I see the wheels turning in his head.
It is believable. There’s no way the Don of the Chicago Outfit would go skulking around with his men just to recover stolen consignment unless he was well insured—with his arch-rebel’s life’s assets no less.
He’s probably thinking he ought to call his boss and check before the entire Romano empire is destroyed.
“Ten minutes, figli di putana,” I snarl. “Or, make it simpler for yourself. Be a good little dog and hand over the stolen goods, and we’ll walk away and let you live.”
Romano’s soldier apparently has more backbone than I initially gave him credit for because he scoffs. “The only thing you’ll only be walking away with is your men’s corpses if you don’t turn your ass around and get the hell out of here, Don Vitelli. Right now.”
I sigh dramatically at the affront as my men shift, already knowing there’s no turning back from this, even if it costs them their lives. My threat may have slowed their momentum, but there’s no stopping this wrecking ball. We’ve walked right into an ambush. And there is no doubt there are more men than these four hidden inside those walls.
As I predicted, dark figures appear in the warehouse windows around us and above us, dotting the darkness like sinister vultures perched in wait. I stop counting at six.
We need a bullet-proof shield right fucking now.
My brother Dante is parked just outside the link fence, and I imagine he’s leaning against the van, smoking a joint and chatting smut to his latest ‘girl’ while waiting for me to return, oblivious to the shit that’s hitting the fan right about now.
Dante doubles as my driver and bodyguard, as well as being the most irritating jackass of a baby brother on the planet. He’s just as skilled as any of these men, but I need him unhurt so he can do what he knows best should the need ever arise: To drive like a demon and shoot at impossible angles while doing it.
Where the fuck are you, Dante?
The little shit had better be bringing that armored van around right fucking now otherwise, we’re all dead men because I’m about to throw the first punch here.
“You don’t know me very well, stronzo,” I say to Romano’s gangly man, shaking my head. “Backing down isn’t really my style. I’ve been told I can be a little stubborn.”
Beside me, Leo chuckles softly and mutters, “That’s like saying a rock is a little hard.”
It’s been a while since I’ve fought with my men, leaving Leo to do most of the strategy training. I sure hope like hell we still operate like a well-oiled machine, and these fuckers can do what Leo, Dante, and I can with a handful of bullets.
The gangly asshole shrugs. “Lo so. Your reputation precedes you, but don’t say I didn’t warn—” He doesn’t finish because a bullet flies out the pistol in my suddenly raised hand and hits him square between the eyes.
Everything stops. I suppose Romano’s rebels were expecting a few more exchanges of threats and insults, followed by a signal from their ring leader before the bullets would finally start flying because there’s a second or two of shock and confusion before they realize I’ve jumped the gun.
My men don’t hesitate. As the gangly man drops, his gun clattering uselessly to the floor, a cacophony of muzzle flashes, echoing cracks, and the pungent scent of gunpowder fills the air.
Amidst the chaos, I hear the screech of brakes before the armored Klassen van flies in front of us, an effective shield between the warehouse, the bullets, and our men. Dante jumps out armed with an M16 rifle and a demented smile. I want to kiss and deck him all at once.
Again, the sudden appearance of a bullet proof wall takes the men by surprise, this time their shock would prove their undoing as my men take advantage of their hesitation and start dropping them like flies.
They fight back, their bullets raining down from the shattering warehouse windows and slamming into the van, but while their shots bounce off, ours hit right on target. In another minute, Romano’s remaining rebels are retreating. Some fools actually turn around and attempt to flee, effectively catching bullets in their backs.
I spot one man to the left aiming at Leo’s head, but as soon as I drop him, I feel a ribbon of fire graze my left shoulder, dangerously close to my brachial plexus.
Fuck!
