Silence overtook the room, nobody sure what to say. Barsanti grabbed the bottle of liquor, pouring himself a bit in a glass before offering it across the table, to Primo. "Scotch?"
Primo shrugged. "Why not?"
Dante ran his hands down his face. "What the fuck is happening?"
"I don't know," Victor said quietly, "but I don't like it."
"Well, then…" Alfie shoved his chair back to stand. "I need another Mimosa."
"Of course you do, you big pussy," the head of the Buffalo family called out.
Laughter rang out, wiping away some of the tension. The others seemed to relax, but nothing eased Dante's anxiety. He tried to make sense of it, his thoughts jumbled as he watched his father, the man way too complacent, sitting there like he no longer had a care in the world. Every so often, Primo's eyes would shift Dante's way, a flickering glance. It wasn't until the third time it happened that Dante realized the man wasn't looking at him but past him. Turning his head, Dante glanced out the window, down onto the estate. Darkness cloaked everything but through it, he caught sight of a man dressed in all black strutting through the yard.
Victor turned, to look, and groaned. "The incompetence of some is astounding."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because my men know to hold their positions until they're dismissed."
Dante's stomach dropped. He turned back around once the figure was out of sight, again scanning the room, finding his father looking at him… for real that time. Primo picked up his scotch, taking a sip of it, the glass not enough to conceal the smile on his lips. Fuck.
"Something's wrong," Dante said.
A harrowing bang echoed from the floor below, violent enough to vibrate the floor beneath Dante's feet, the chandelier above them wildly shaking, the crystals clattering together. Dante's breath caught as he looked up at it, staring into the orange glow just as another rippling bang echoed through the house, carrying panicked voices along with it, followed by a hail of gunfire strong enough to make Dante's ears ring even from a distance.
There wasn't enough time to stop it.
Dante had seen it before.
He'd watched it happen.
He'd stood there, at The Place, witnessing one of Primo's sneak attacks. You throw the whole gauntlet at them and they don't know how to react.
The doors to the ballroom thrust open, men bursting in, cloaked in all black. They scattered, moving in disarray around the perimeter, as the figure front-and-center headed straight for them. Short, wearing a ski mask, carrying that AR-15. Of course. He jumped up on top of the table, kicking plates out of the way, knocking drinks over as he walked along it, finger squeezing the trigger and letting out a hail of gunfire into the ceiling above them, sending shards flying from the chandelier as bullets struck it. Men ducked from the spray, shielding themselves against the shrapnel, but nobody ran. Nobody cowered away. Nobody begged. They weren't like the men from The Place.
These men faced death every day.
"Gentlemen, it's in your best interest to cooperate," Umberto announced, removing his finger from the trigger when he stopped in front of Dante, staring down at him. "Play nice and maybe you'll get to go home tonight."
Dante caught his eye. "Bert."
"Dante." He nodded in greeting. "I passed along your message."
"I see that."
"Message?" Victor looked between them suspiciously. "What message?"
Alfie cleared his throat. "I told them to tell Galante that his son had nothing to say to him, and if they didn't like it, they could take it up with the Brazzi family."
"So here we are," Umberto said, waving around them as he continued stalking down the table, "taking it up with the Brazzi family."
Victor's angry eyes darted right to Primo as the man downed the rest of his scotch before setting the empty glass on the table. "Galante, you've got some nerve…"
"I do," Primo said. "A lot more nerve than the rest of you."
Primo stood, his hand held out. One of the men in black slipped a gun to him. Primo checked, making sure it was loaded as he strolled around the table, over to where Barsanti sat, pressing it to the back of the man's head. Umberto paced back and forth, watching them, making sure no one tried to intervene. Dante watched as Barsanti's eyes closed, his mouth furiously moving but his words too quiet to hear.
"Are you praying?" Primo asked. "You think that's going to stop me from blowing your brains all over