All he knew was they weren't cops. Ducking behind one of the freight cars, he could feel his adrenaline pumping as the bullets ricocheted off the metal, but he had to take the chance to peek around the corner, hoping to figure out what the fuck was going on.
Several figures moved in the darkness, some hiding behind a few shipping containers. There was a rapid exchange of bullets, and that was when he noticed the scorpion tattoo on the side of one of the men's faces.
The last time he saw that tattoo was a year ago, when he and his people had a run-in with the Russian mafia, but he was certain they’d squashed any beef they might have had, so he pushed that thought away. No, this had to be someone else making it look like the Russians.
"Boss, what the fuck is going on?" Nico, one of his men, asked, moving to stand beside him.
"Your guess is as good as mine," he said.
"Someone must have leaked and told them we would be here?" Nico growled, firing a couple of shots into the darkness, hoping he'd hit his target.
Othello smirked. "It doesn't matter. None of them are leaving here alive." He looked in the direction of where Alessandro was. He was guarding himself well, but Othello didn't feel good about that. They were cornered and out in the open. "Nico, go and cover the don. Don't let anything happen to him."
"You got it." Othello covered Nico as he trudged through the multitude of bullets and ran to Alessandro's side. Raising his gun, Othello moved from out of his hiding spot just as he saw Vito get hit, collapsing, clutching his side. As far as he could tell, that was their first and only casualty.
Watching the scene, that feeling that something wasn't right nagged at him. He counted ten men to his five, himself included, and the odds weren't in their favor, but they weren't aiming for them or specifically him. Othello was sure there were more hidden, waiting for some signal.
The crack of gunfire continued to ring out, and a shout came from where Alessandro was hidden. Othello looked over to his father's side, as if he could see clearly in the dark. His heart stopped in his chest when he saw a figure standing over him and another lying beside him. There was a gun pointed at Alessandro's head.
Without hesitation, Othello raised his gun, finger pressing the trigger, shooting the attacker, dropping him. But Othello didn't let his finger off the gun's pulse until he was beside Alessandro.
"Are you hurt?" he asked worriedly, checking his father over.
"No, Nico blocked me in time," Alessandro said.
"Dammit, Nico," he cursed and checked on the man who had protected his father with his life. He thanked all the gods he was still alive. He was shot in the back, but they needed to get him to the hospital, or he could die.
"These guys aren't professionals," Alessandro said.
"No." He looked at the guy he'd killed. "Maybe he was, but these fuckers don't know who they are messing with."
"Go finish this up," Alessandro said. "I'll stay here with Nico."
"Are you sure?" Othello asked, worried.
"Yeah, we fight for family, just as they will for us, Othello. Remember that." Then he grinned. "Plus, I called for backup."
"You sly, old man," he mumbled.
"Idiots will always underestimate us. I know you're out for blood, but keep at least one alive. That way, we can get some answers."
"I make no fucking promises." No further words needed to be said. Othello reloaded his gun, stood, and aimed it at anyone who moved left or right. He hoped to capture one alive, but when someone aimed a gun at anyone deemed precious, they had to fucking die.
He fired a couple more shots, taking out two men. "The backup needs to get here quickly," he mumbled to himself. As if hearing him, the roar of engines filled the air, and two black SUVs tore onto the pier. Othello smiled as their headlights cut through the night. Before the vehicles stopped, their men spilled out, weapons drawn, turning the tide in the fight.
“Cover me,” Othello shouted to Alessandro, then moved from behind the pallets, with his father giving him cover. Othello sprinted across the dock, moving behind the freight cars. It might have been his imagination or the night’s light playing tricks on him, but he saw something shiny peeking out from one of the containers near the chaos.
Othello reached the side of a container, breathing heavily. He peered around the corner and saw one of the remaining gunmen reloading behind a stack of barrels. Without hesitation, he lined up his shot and pulled the trigger, shooting the gun out of his hand, then ran forward, barreling into him, bringing him down. Othello growled, raining down punch after punch, not letting up.
Blood splattered on his clothes and face, but he paid it no mind. He was too angry to care about his appearance. While using a gun was fine, Othello preferred smashing his opponent's face in. It helped get rid of his anger.
"Othello, stop," Alessandro yelled as the other men pulled him off the guy. "You'll kill him, and we won't get any answers."
Othello didn't struggle, but pulled away from his men and moved over to the guy who was moaning and groaning on the ground, the only sound that echoed on the pier that had been ablaze with gunfire and noise only seconds before. But he didn't pay the man any attention and grabbed him by his shirt collar, pulling him up.
"Who sent you?" he growled in the fucker's face.
The guy gave him a bloody smile, which made Othello want to hit him more, but he held back. Upon closer inspection of the tattoo on his face, Othello could tell that it was fake.
