I guess it was something rich assholes liked.
The hundred feet between the guard house and the walkway was all cobblestone. Lots of open space and nowhere to hide, except for behind those columns and statues.
Which is why we headed for the garage on the far right of the fortress.
According to Luciano, it was a centuries-old animal stable that had been converted into a ten-car garage. A passageway had been built that connected the garage to the main house.
Luciano had a remote in his car, so he opened the roll-up door on one of the bays.
Old Man Amato had quite the collection: a Rolls, a Maybach, and a Ferrari, not to mention a shit-load of black BMWs, all bulletproof.
Luciano slid into an open space and closed the garage door behind us.
There was a guard on duty in the garage. Same as the rest of them: black suit, tie, white shirt.
He strolled towards the car, curious but completely at ease. After all, the BMW had gotten through the front gate, so therecouldn’tbe anything wrong.
“Roll down the window and say you’ve got a friend with you,” I ordered.
Luciano did as he was told. “I’ve got a friend with me,” he said to the guard.
“Oh?” the guard replied pleasantly. “Who?”
I opened the rear passenger door and got out.
The guard looked at me, puzzled.
He apparently didn’t understand why Luciano was hanging out with a tatted guy in a wife-beater and leather jacket.
Just as he realized something might be wrong, I raised my silenced pistol and shot theCosa Nostradipshit in the head.
Pop!
Blood sprayed across the Rolls-Royce next to us, and the guard collapsed onto the concrete floor with athud.
“Pop the trunk and get out,” I ordered Luciano.
He opened the trunk, then slowly got out of the car. As he did, he stared down at the dead foot soldier on the floor of the garage.
Ciro and Romeo exited the other side of the BMW with their guns drawn. Romeo still held onto the tablet with his left hand.
Tiratore climbed stiffly out of the trunk. “Jesus Christ, it’s good to be out of there.”
“Shut up and get ready,” I snapped.
Tiratore handed a shotgun with a strap to Ciro, who slung it over his shoulder.
Then Tiratore opened a heavy plastic gun case in the trunk and quickly assembled his rifle.
With its massive silencer and big-ass scope, the thing was a beast. It looked like it could take down a fuckin’ rhino.
“You got the other shit?” I asked.
“Yep,” Tiratore confirmed, and opened up a second storage case in the trunk.
Inside were helmets with night vision goggles. Each helmet had four lenses that looked like a giant spider’s eyes. You could flip them up or down to switch between your regular vision and night vision.
The shit was top shelf – NATO special ops equipment. They’d set me back 40,000 euros apiece. But if tonight went as planned, it would be more than worth it.
