Barsanti's eyes opened again, his voice flat. "I don't want your mercy."
"Then what do you want?"
"Eye for an eye," Barsanti said. "Tooth for a tooth."
The second he said that, a gunshot went off, the loud bang echoing through the room as Primo angrily pulled the trigger, a bullet tearing right through the back of Barsanti's skull. He dropped, slamming into the table, but Primo didn't stop there. Umberto skidded to a stop in front of Gavin, damn near tripping as his boss unloaded bullet after bullet into Barsanti's body, unleashing his fury.
Before Umberto could get his footing, before he could pull himself together, someone reacted. It happened fast, the blink of an eye, the movement so instant Dante damn near missed it. Moretti swung, hitting the back of Umberto's knees, making his legs come out from under him. His ass hit the table with a bang, sending plates scattering. Moretti snatched up a steak knife before it clattered to the floor, gripping it firmly, and swung, jamming it right into the back of Umberto's hand when he tried to push himself up on the table. It sliced through his hand, the thrust so hard it pierced the table beneath, pinning him there as blood poured from the wound. A shriek tore from him as Moretti stood and snatched AR-15, slamming the butt of it right into Umberto's face. The crippling blow forced him to let go, to relinquish the gun to Moretti, who swung around, firing off a stream of bullets toward the door, sending the others scattering, fleeing from the room.
Moretti aimed the AR-15 at Primo's face. "You just had to do this when I was here."
Primo stared at him, motionless. "This isn't your fight."
"You're wrong," Moretti said, "because I have a wife to go home to, and anything that tries to stop me from doing that becomes my fight."
Dante's heart raced. Nobody else said a word, nobody moving. Nobody looked surprised, not even Gavin, who sat in the thick of it, watching with a blank expression, like none of it shocked him.
"You've got two choices," Moretti said, "the first being you drop the gun and walk out of here."
"The second?"
"You don't drop the gun and see how far you get," Moretti said. "Choose wisely."
Primo lowered his hand, and Dante relaxed a bit, but just like everything with his father, it changed like the flip of a switch. Primo moved, trying to get the upper hand, raising the gun fast, aiming right at Moretti's face and squeezing the trigger.
CLICK
Moretti just stood there, his expression blank. He looked bored.
Panic flashed in Primo's eyes as he frantically squeezed the trigger.
CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK
His gaze darted around, looking for something. A weapon? An escape? A friend? Desperation poured from him in shaky breaths, but Moretti didn't appear sympathetic. Primo lowered the gun, tossing it on the table in a small pool of blood, resignation calming his expression. "Guess I was out of bullets."
"You wasted them," Moretti said, still aiming the AR-15 at him. "I counted."
"Check the house," Victor ordered then. "Find out where they went, how they got in here and why none of my men stopped them."
"I'm on it," Alfie said, jumping up, grabbing Dante's arm and yanking him out of his chair. "Come on, you shouldn't be here for this."
Dante didn't argue, watching over his shoulder as he followed Alfie to the door.
"Anything to say for yourself?" Victor asked, standing up, staring right at Primo.
Primo said nothing.
Sickness swirled inside of Dante, making every inch of him tremble. By the time they reached the stairs, Umberto's voice cried out, begging, a stream of "no, no, no," before rapid gunfire tore through the ballroom. The sound stalled Dante as he doubled over, dry heaving, but Alfie grabbed his arm again and made him keep moving.
The house was still, not a sign of anyone anywhere. Alfie armed himself, getting guns from Victor's office, before motioning out the front door. "Go get some air while we clean this up."
The world was a haze, and Dante was in a fucking daze, sitting on the front step of the house in the darkness, trying to breathe but bile burned his throat, making it suffocating. He put his head down, forcing back the sickness and pulling himself together.
A hand clutched his shoulder, Gavin sitting down beside him on the step. He said nothing, just staring off into space.