Page 103 of Mafia Star

Gabe owns a couple hardware stores, so we have legit businesses to get the things we need for homemade explosives. Carmine heads our construction division, so he has easy access to our demolition explosives for bigger jobs. Right now, I collect the homemade ones I keep stocked. I don’t need my degree to set the fuses, but it helps to make them more complicated than a typical fertilizer bomb. It takes a bomb tech or someone else with my knowledge of electrical engineering to diffuse them without blowing themselves up first.

I may have paid for my MBA— just like everyone in my generation paid for their grad degrees —but Mama and Papa paid good money for me to officially learn how to blow shit up and to indulge my love of electric engines in cars. At least, that’s what Mama complains about every time she dusts my diploma.

None of us care enough to hang our diplomas on the walls at our places, so they fill a wall in here. There are eight from Ivy League or Top Tier schools. Mama and Papa didn’t buy any of us a degree. We earned our spots at those schools, and we earned those degrees. There isn’t a dumb one in the bunch.

Steve just joined us back at the SUVs three blocks from McGinty’s. He did a little recon for us since none of us can go in there without it setting off all the alarms. I know from past brawls in there, they have two alarm buttons under the bar that alert the O’Rourkes’ leadership. There’s one in the back office, and three in the kitchen. Fuckers obviously expect as much trouble as they get. It’s been six years since that fight, so they might have added more.

“There’s a waitress and a female bartender, but the rest are men. There’re twelve around tables, four at the bar, and four between the two pool tables. Plus two dudes behind the bar. I waited around to see if anyone came out of the restrooms or the kitchen. They didn’t.”

I’m taking the lead on this since this is about retribution for what happened to my fiancée.

“What’d the bartender say about you drinking alone.”

“That I just found out my girlfriend’s fucking some asshole who isn’t me. I got the drink for free. Left a five-dollar tip. Generous without being memorable.”

That sucks. It’s actually an explanation not an excuse. He could have gone in and looked around, said he didn’t see his friend, and was going to step outside to call them. Then just not gone back in. Getting the drink is less memorable than the walk in-walk out, but what he told the bartender really just sucks because it’s true.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Gabe, Carmine, and Luca are going around back to make sure no one can leave. Steve is guarding the front door. We’ll be speaking Italian into earpieces. Since he can’t understand the language, it’s not safe for him to come in. Matteo, Enzo, and I are going in through the front.

Basically, we’re going to kettle them by coming around from both sides and forcing them to remain in one place where we want them. But we have to be in an out before Finn, who manages the bar most nights, can get there after someone inevitably triggers the alarm. None of them live in this neighborhood, so we should finish before any of them can arrive, but who wants to tempt fate? Not I. I have a hot fiancée I plan to make love to before the sun rises. We move into place, and I give the signal. Carmine goes in through the back to get the women out. But once they’re safe outside, he’ll stand with Luca and Gabe. Anyone who makes it to the back door will get shot as they open it.

I lead my trio in through the front door, guns already drawn. I take in everything as my gaze sweeps the interior. I see that only one person has moved since Steve came out. There are only three at the pool tables. The guy must be in the restroom.

I hear Enzo through my earpiece since we’re not standing together anymore.

“Bagno.” Bathroom.

He noticed the same thing I did. The guys out back will know to expect someone to flee in a few seconds.

“Uno.”

That was Carmine. One man down. It was probably the one in the restroom. He probably took him out as he leads the women to the back door. These women are likely mobster’s daughters or sisters or nieces. The O’Rourkes are just like any other syndicate. We keep it all in the community. These women know to get out while they can. Even if it’s an attacker leading them to safety, they go.

It's Carmine again in my earpiece.

“Sicuro.” Safe.

The waitress and bartender are out. I’m keeping track of all of this as I squeeze off one bullet after another. We don’t just spray bullets everywhere. We aren’t here to fuck up the place. Enzo, Matteo, and I are methodical in how we work our way forward like birds migrating south for the winter. We’re in an inverted V, and I’m at the vertex. Matteo is to my right, and Enzo is to my left. We divide and conquer, each taking a third with the bar divided into columns.

Each of our 9mm pistols had fifteen bullets in the clip when we started. Enough for any of us to clear the bar since we each carry two. I sense more than see Enzo pivot to shoot a guy who just popped up from behind the bar. As Enzo turns, a guy aims at him from beneath a pool table. He’s dead before he realizes I saw him. Stay the fuck away from my baby brother.

Matteo’s hushed voice fills my ear.

“We’re missing one.”

“I know. It was a blond. He was near the pool table.”

I didn’t see anyone try to run out, but it’s possible I missed the movement while focusing on a different target.

“Due.” Two.

It’s Gabe. Someone must have tried to escape out the back.

“Biondo?” Blond?

“Sì.”

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