10
ALESSO
“Ifeel like James fucking Bond,” one of Salerno’s men says as we suit up in an empty warehouse a few miles from Saverio’s Vegas estate.
“James Bond always gets the girl, and he always emerges victorious,” Salerno says, strapping a Kevlar around his upper torso. He jabs a meaty finger in the man’s direction. “And so will we.”
“Fuck yeah.” Leo buckles his black pants. “We’re going to annihilate these Bratva bastards.”
We are all wearing black pants and long-sleeved shirts with bulletproof vests. It’s part of our stealth strategy. Gambini and the Russians are holed up in all of Salerno’s strongholds, like sitting ducks waiting for us to attack. Except they won’t expect us this late at night and by the time they realize they’re under siege, it will be too late to stop us.
Dark streaks paint the sky outside the warehouse as night rolls in, and I stretch my arms out over my head, clenching and unclenching my fists, as anticipation mixes with the adrenaline flowing through my veins.
“I know you didn’t need to be here, and I’m grateful for the show of support,” Salerno says, eyeballing Ben in a rare glimpse of sincerity.
It’s the truth. Ben and Leo could have left it to oursoldatiand caposto handle. Thanks to The Commission, we have men fromfamigliaswithin Arizona and California hiding out in similar warehouses and outbuildings around Salerno’s properties and businesses around Vegas, ready to launch a coordinated attack when the signal is given. We weren’t needed. Hell, I’m not even part of the main rank and file right now, but none of us wanted to miss the opportunity to spill some Russian blood.
And this is the way Ben rolls.
It’s why he has earned the undying loyalty of his men.
“I won’t forget this,” Salerno adds.
“I won’t let you,” Ben coolly replies. “You owe me.”
“I am well aware,” Salerno says, a familiar scowl returning to his scarred, pockmarked face. He doesn’t like to be reminded how the tables have turned. He watches the men packed into the warehouse as everyone gets ready for war, flexing his arms and rolling his shoulders. “Gambini is mine,” he grits out through clenched teeth.
“Ours,” Russo—Salerno’s elderlyconsigliere—amends. “He betrayed both of us.”
“He betrayed all of you,” I say, my eyes darting around the room. “Every man here has beef with your underboss for selling you out. Every man here has lost someone in this battle. When you kill him, you kill him for all of us.”
Salerno clamps a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Well said, boy.”
My fist itches with the need to punch his lights out. If I was Leo, I’d probably retort with some old-man comment, but I grind my teeth to the molars and leash my anger.
“Listen up,” Ben shouts, instantly commanding the attention of the room. “Weapons are in the back, and every man must wear the headgear supplied. The goggles have a thermal image sensor installed that means we can see in the dark up to a three-hundred-yard radius. The battery charge is three hours, so only put the goggles on as we are leaving.”
We expect the battle to be bloody and protracted because most of the Russians are holding fort up the road at Salerno’s vast property. We have a lot of ground to cover, but thanks to our extensive drone surveillance over the past few weeks, we have strong intel on where Gambini has men stationed around the house. The raids on the other properties should be handled quickly, and once those places are back inCosa Nostrahands, surplus men will be sent here.
We go over the plans one final time with the capos, ensuring each group knows their position. Then we wait.
Ben and Salerno check in with the capos in other areas a couple of hours later, and the time for action has arrived. I pull the black balaclava over my head and face, positioning the high-tech night-vision googles on top of my head. Ben’s internal tech team created the lightweight ski mask and goggles for scenarios like this, but this is the first time we are testing them in the field. Dressed all in black, with our ability to see in the dark, we plan to sneak onto the grounds through an old drainage tunnel and surprise the enemy.
“This is it,” Salerno shouts, his deep voice booming across the warehouse. “Our moment of retribution has come. Let’s make these Russian scum pay!” he hollers, and a rousing chorus of approval bounces off the walls of the derelict building.
“Stick to the plan. Stick to your capo and your team. Donotdeviate,” Ben adds, projecting his voice. “Kill and move forward until they’re all dead.”
Salerno thumps Ben in the shoulder, grinning like the psychopath he is. “Let’s do this.” He turns to Russo. “It’s time to go home.”
* * *
“Fuck. This place reeks,” Leo grumbles as we climb down the rusted ladder into the old sewer tunnel at the rear of Salerno’s property. Saverio wasn’t aware this sewerage system even existed until Ben had Phillip locate the original plans for the property. Using drones, we discovered this was a viable way onto the grounds of the house, but no one prepared us for the ghastly smell.
“I don’t even want to think about what could be down here,” I murmur. Or wonder about how much worse the rotten-egg smell would be without our face coverings.
“The enemy will probably drop like flies the second they smell us,” he deadpans, and I chuckle.
“Wouldn’t that be a result.”
