sitting in silence. Dante didn't expect a response. He wasn't even sure why he'd said that. But it was in him, nagging, and he needed to let it out.
"Dante? I think this might constitute touchy-feely bullshit."
Dante laughed. "You might be right."
The waitress swung by then, dropping off their food, before grabbing Dante another beer and refreshing Gavin's drink.
They chatted about nothing of importance as they ate, everyone leaving them alone. Dante was finishing up his third beer when Umberto walked into the bar. Dante watched, on guard, as the guy looked around, not moving from the entrance.
His gaze settled on Dante. Fuck.
"Well, this was nice, but I think duty calls." Dante took the last little swallow of his beer before standing up, setting the bottle on the table. "Thank you, Amaro."
Gavin shrugged it off. "It was just a burger."
"For looking for me," Dante clarified. "Thank you for trying."
Dante strolled to the door where Umberto lingered, dressed in all black. He paused, nodding in greeting.
Umberto didn't nod back. "Your father's trying to reach you."
"I told him I lost my phone."
Dante refrained from mentioning that he'd gotten a new one, having no plans to share the number with them.
"Well, we've got another job to do, and your father wants you involved."
"Jersey?"
"No," Umberto said. "Soho."
Soho.
"He told me to stay out of Soho."
"He figured he'd make an exception for tonight," Umberto said, "since you've got a vested interest in the place."
"What place?" Dante knew the answer the second he asked. "The Place."
"Bingo," Umberto said, pulling his keys from his pocket. "This one's personal."
Dante went along, not putting up a fight, riding in the passenger seat and watching out the window as the streets flew by. Darkness infiltrated the city and swarmed the car, the windows rolled down, an icy chill in the air that made Dante's blood run cold.
Something twisted inside of Dante as they approached The Place, parking in an underground garage, out of sight of the street. Umberto popped his trunk, again pulling out his backpack, perching a ski mask on top of his head.
"Here, put this on."
Umberto tossed a black duffle bag to Dante. Black hoodie. Black ski mask. Black leather gloves. Dante slipped it all on as Umberto tinkered around in the trunk, resurfacing with a gun.
A big gun.
Umberto held up the AR-15, sliding the fresh clip in. Dante's chest tightened at the sight of it. "What are we doing here, Bert?"
"Making waves," he said, glancing at him. "Do you have your gun on you?"
"No."
He didn't have a gun. Barsanti had taken it.
"Do you want one?"
"Do I need one?"
Umberto reached into his waistband, pulling out his Colt .45 to hand it to Dante. Guess that's my answer. He gripped it, getting a feel for it, although he hoped like hell he wouldn't use it for anything.
The darkness made it easy for them to move undetected, to slip into the stairwell beside The Place and head up to the apartment above it. Umberto tried the door. Locked. Before Dante could volunteer to do something, Umberto whipped out his tools and broke right in.
"You're getting better at that," Dante said as he stepped into the dark apartment behind Umberto.
"Guess I learned from watching the best."
Umberto pulled out a flashlight to hand to Dante before setting off through the apartment.
"What are we looking for?" Dante asked.
"Whatever we find."
Whatever we find.
A kitchen. A living room. Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Umberto headed straight to the left, walking with purpose, while Dante veered right, curious. He stalled in the doorway, the beam of his flashlight bouncing around a room he riddled out right away as having belonged to Enzo. It was a mess, things strewn everywhere, a Scarface poster on the wall. Typical.
Dante couldn't bring himself to step inside the room. Enzo was smart enough to know not to keep anything where someone could find it. There was no point rifling through his things.
Strolling away, he noticed a pool table off to the back, prominently displayed in the living room. Dante ran his hand along the blue felt, picking up the black eight ball, holding it in his palm. He wondered if his sister had ever played on it.
"Anything?" Umberto asked, reappearing, still carrying around the massive gun. The sight of it made Dante nervous.
"Nothing," Dante said. "You?"
Umberto shrugged, heading for the door to leave already. Dante dropped the eight ball back onto the table before following, locking the door as Umberto headed down the stairwell.