stalled at the bottom and peeked out. "We're just getting started."
Umberto yanked his ski mask down, covering his face. Dante's heart raced. Shit. Not having much of a choice, Dante covered his face and pulled the hood up over his head, cloaking him.
Chaos erupted. Cars pulled up outside, double parking, blocking the road around the entrance. Men stormed the bar.
"Let's go," Umberto said, stepping out of the stairwell and heading right for the bar. Dante followed Umberto, slipping in the door, but he paused there, not wanting to go any further.
It was a coordinated attack, every meticulous detail worked out. They'd planned it in advance, leaving nothing to chance.
Nothing except Dante.
Barsanti's men went for guns, panicked by the intrusion, but they could do nothing to stop the invasion.
"Drop your weapons! Get on the ground!" Umberto yelled, cutting through the crowd, his gun pointed at the ceiling as he fired off a few rounds in quick succession. "Cooperate and we might let you go home tonight."
Men dropped to the ground, surrendering their guns. Galante soldiers dressed in black swarmed them, securing their weapons, as others robbed the place. Always take the weapons. It was a Galante family rule. You never know when someone else's gun might come in handy for a frame-up job. They raided pockets and rifled through the cash register, stealing anything of value, smashing whatever they planned to leave behind. Glass shattered, liquor bottles exploding as bullets haphazardly ripped into the mirror behind the bar.
Dante watched it all unfold in slow motion.
Thirty seconds. A minute. Maybe two. It wasn't long at all, but it dragged on forever.
Umberto climbed up on top of the bar, walking along it, surveying the scene. Liquor soaked the floor, running along the tile in puddles, carrying shards of glass along with it.
Umberto aimed his gun at the bartender's head. "Where's your boss tonight?"
"I, uh… he, uh…"
Umberto fired some shots right past the guy, close enough he could've hit him. The guy collapsed behind the bar, crying.
"I'll ask you once more," Umberto said, aiming at him again. "Where is your boss?"
"He's, uh… he's somewhere with Johnny Amaro! A meeting or something. I don't know! Don't shoot!"
Dante wasn't sure what happened after that. It all moved too fast. Umberto jumped down from the bar, satisfied, as he announced, "Thank you, assholes, for your cooperation. Primo Galante sends his regards."
As soon as those words were out of his mouth, someone moved, lunging for Umberto. For the AR-15. Gunshots went off. People started shooting as others viciously fought, fighting for survival like caged animals. Blood spilled, splattering along the bar, running into the puddles of liquor.
"Light it up," Umberto hissed, his voice scathing as he slammed the AR-15 into somebody's face before running for the door. "Leave nothing."
Dante ran out behind Umberto, his vision blurry, ears ringing, his hands fucking shaking. They hurried around the corner, into the garage, heading for the car.
Three minutes. That was it.
It felt so much longer.
Sirens wailed in the distance as Umberto drove out of the garage. People ran, getting into the cars to flee. Umberto turned, speeding away, as Dante ripped his mask off and watched the side mirror.
Thick smoke rolled out of the side of the bar. They barely made it half a block when an explosion rocked the street, loud enough to make Dante flinch, strong enough to rock the car they rode in. Flames jutted from every crevice of the building. Dante tried to steady his breathing, but panic crept through his veins when police cars flew by them.
Neither of them said a word. They drove straight to Westchester County, to the Galante house, where Primo sat in the dining room, eating alone.
Umberto walked right in the room, pausing beside his boss as he shed his heavy black clothing. "Nothing."
"Nothing," Primo repeated. "There has to be something, somewhere. It's impossible for there to be nothing."
"I know," Umberto said. "We'll keep looking."
"I know you will," Primo said. "How'd it go otherwise?"
"Got a bit messy at the end, but we didn't lose anyone. Wrecked the place and left. Took the guns."
"Good," Primo said. "And Barsanti?"
"At a meeting with Amaro."
Primo shook his head. "Amaro, you say?"
"Seems that way."
"You did good, son." Primo waved his wand dismissively. "You can go."
Dante was about to chime in, to say he'd done not a goddamn thing, when Umberto nodded and responded. "Thank you, sir."
Umberto walked away, slipping past Dante. Son.
"Take a seat, Dante," Primo said. "Have dinner with me."