Page 28 of Mafia Wars

I nod, the weight of my weapon a comforting reminder in my hand. Carefully, I twist the silencer into place, keeping my movements precise and silent. Jack’s fingers twitch, and he launches the stone into the air with practiced ease. It arcs high, disappearing for a moment before clattering noisily against the roof of the security outhouse.

The response is immediate. Inside, we hear the muffled sound of boots scraping on concrete. Voices—three, maybe four. The gates groan on their hinges as they start to open, just enough for one man to step out and scan the area. He’s cautious, staying close to the shadow of the wall. A tactical move, smart, but not smart enough.

Jack holds his position, his finger flexing slightly against the trigger. I stay crouched in the darkness beside him, every muscle tense. The guard doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t step far enough away for us to strike without exposing ourselves. My chest tightens. Jack’s plan is slipping through our fingers.

Then he picks up another stone.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay calm as he lobs it farther this time, the sharp sound echoing off the walls. The guard reacts instantly, pulling his weapon and stepping to the side of the road. His gaze pierces the darkness, scanning for threats he can’t see.

That’s when Jack fires. The silenced shot is barely a whisper, but it’s deafening to me. The guard crumples where he stands, a single shot to the head sending him sprawling on the ground. Blood pools beneath him, dark and glistening in the faint light. So much for getting in and out clean.

I move with Jack, both of us inching closer to the gate, the tension between us electric. A second man appears in the gateway, his gun drawn. Before he has time to process what’s happened, I line up my shot and pull the trigger. He drops silently, his body slumping back into the shadows.

It’s too easy. Too quiet. My instincts scream at me just as the third man emerges, but he doesn’t come out into the open like the others. He’s smarter, holding back just enough to stay in cover. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to calculate the odds, but then the unmistakable sound of gears grinding fills the air.

“The gates,” I hiss under my breath. They’re closing.

Jack doesn’t respond. He’s already moving, his posture low and his weapon raised. There’s no time to think, no time to plan. I’m right behind him, every nerve in my body on fire as we close the distance between us and the rapidly shrinking gap. One wrong move, one hesitation, and we’ll be locked out—or worse, pinned down with no entry.

I can feel the weight of the night pressing in on us, heavy and suffocating. The third man is still out there, somewhere in the shadows, and I know he’s waiting. Waiting for us to make a mistake.

"Move," Jack says. I do. "Take out the cameras," Jack orders, and I focus on the cameras on either side of the gate, taking them out one by one with quick, precise shots. The third man fires at Jack but misses. Jack doesn’t. His return shot finds its mark, and the man collapses in a heap just as the gates are nearly closed. Jack moves fast, grabbing the nearest dead body and wedging it between the gates, halting their progress.

“Go,” he growls. We still have to shift sideways to squeeze through the narrow gap, every movement tight and deliberate. Inside, the radio on the waistband of one of the fallen guards crackles to life, the sound like a jolt to my nerves.

“Everything okay down at the gates?”

The voice is calm, but we know better. We’re out of time.

Jack and I move up the long driveway, sticking close to the hedge line. The night air is still, but my pulse pounds like a war drum in my ears. Every step is deliberate, each one calculated to avoid the crunch of gravel. The house looms ahead, its darkened windows glinting faintly under the pale moonlight. It looks quiet, but we both know better.

A faint buzz catches my ear—mechanical and subtle. I freeze, my eyes scanning until I spot it: a sleek black camera mounted above the garage. Its lens sweeps the area, a tiny red light blinking with the rhythm of a heartbeat. I raise my pistol, steady my breathing, and pull the trigger. The silencer muffles the shot, but the sparks that erupt from the camera’s shattered body are bright in the darkness. It droops lifelessly against its mount.

Jack nods approvingly, and we press forward. We’re halfway to the house when the front door creaks open, spilling a faint beam of warm light onto the stone steps. Two men step outside, their postures casual, unaware of the danger creeping closer. They’re talking in low voices, but their words are lost because of the distance. One of them pauses mid-sentence, his foot crunching on the shards of the destroyed camera. He glances down, then up, his eyes narrowing in alarm.

He doesn’t get the chance to shout. Jack emerges from the hedge line like a ghost, his movements fluid and silent. The pistol in his hand barks twice, the suppressed shots blending into the night. Both men collapse, one crumpling against the doorframe, the other spilling onto the path—the warm light pools around their still forms.

“Door’s open,” Jack mutters, his voice barely audible. His eyes scan the area, sharp and vigilant.

I nod, my own gaze sweeping the property for any additional cameras. None. That’s good—if we can blind the men inside, this becomes a different game—a winnable one.

We approach the house slowly, the faint scent of fresh-cut grass mingling with the metallic tang of blood in the air. Jack reaches the door first, his back pressed against the frame as he peeks inside. He glances at me, a quick nod signaling the all-clear.

I step through the doorway, my gun held steady in front of me. The house’s interior is a stark contrast to the tense darkness outside. Soft classical music drifts through the air, its elegant notes weaving a strange, haunting melody. It’s coming from somewhere deeper within the house, but the echo makes it hard to pinpoint.

The entryway is grand—marble floors, an ornate chandelier hanging overhead. I scan the room, my grip tightening on my weapon.

“Clear,” I whisper over my shoulder to Jack, who slips in behind me. His presence is a solid reassurance, even though we’re walking into the lion’s den.

A movement catches my eye—just a flicker at the edge of my vision. I turn quickly, training my gun on a hallway that branches off to the right. Nothing. Just shadows playing tricks.

“They know we’re here,” Jack says quietly. His voice is low, calm, but I hear the edge in it. He’s right. The men in this house don’t need cameras to sense a threat. They’ve survived this long for a reason.

I nod, swallowing hard, and press forward.

Each room we pass is lifeless, the silence only broken by the faint hum of distant music growing louder. My pulse hammers in my ears, anticipation and dread warring inside me. The source is close now.

Jack walks beside me, his movements fluid but deliberate.

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