“You doing us a favor, or just afraid your boys might shoot us by accident?” 8-Ball asked.
“Both,” Roman replied. “You’ll go inclean. Anyone you see inside who isn’t recognizable isn’t mine. You’ll know my men. They all dress the same way. Understood?”
“Yeah,” Blackjack said. “Understood.”
“Then go,” Roman said. “Find them. Call me when you have something that isn’t guesswork.”
The line clicked dead.
Blackjack stared at the phone for a few seconds longer, then set it back down like it was something that might bite if he moved too fast.
“All right,” he said. “Dangers and constraints, let’s dance.”
“Nobody inside is guaranteed friendly,” I said. “Even if they’re wearing similar clothing. If Vladimir’s in there, he’s had time to seed people. We don’t know who to trust once we get in there.”
“And we still don’t know how to tell Roman’s ghosts from Tesauro’s,” Jersey added. “If some of his men did manage to hide or hole up, they’re not exactly going to be standing under a sign that says ‘don’t shoot me, I’m on your side.’ Sure, he says they’ll be recognizable. But there’s still that chance they’ve swapped clothing or allegiances altogether.”
“Roman basically just told us he doesn’t give a shit if a few of his soldiers get caught in the crossfire,” Snake Eyes said. “He wants his wife and kid back. Everything else is negotiable.”
“He’s not going to lose sleep over it,” Blackjack agreed. “I am.” His gaze swept the room, lingered for half a second on Miami, then on me. “I’m not planninga second funeral this week for one of ours. If a Giorlando goes down in there because he popped up at the wrong moment, Roman can add that to his list when he starts tearing his family tree apart. My end goal is every one of you walking back through that gate under your own power.”
“Or crutch,” Miami muttered.
“Which brings us to you,” Blackjack said, shifting his attention fully to him. “I need you on the cameras.”
Miami’s mouth opened like he was about to start the same argument he’d had earlier. Then he closed it again. Whatever fight he’d had left for that got swallowed by the words Roman had just dropped into the room.
“What do we have access to?” he asked instead. Voice steady. Business.
“Roman’s tech guy will patch a feed through for you,” Blackjack said. “I don’t know if we’ll have access to the construction site, but we can see the surrounding areas. You’ll have eyes we won’t. I want you watching for movement. Vans rolling up. Extra bodies slipping in. Anything that smells wrong outside what we already know is wrong.”
“Copy that,” Miami said.
Quinn squeezed his shoulder, relief and worry all tangled in the way her fingers dug in.
“Snake Eyes,” 8-Ball said. “Layout.”
“They’re building a vertical casino with an attached hotel,” Snake Eyes said. “Street side is all glass and show. Boardwalk side’s more doors,patio space, easy access for the drunk tourists. Ground level shell is finished. Windows and doors in. Stacks up maybe fifteen to twenty floors at this point. Inside’s mostly sheetrock and roughed-in wiring. Some floors still bare concrete. Some already got walls up but no finish. No furniture. No fixtures. Lots of empty space to get lost in or ambushed.”
“And sound’s going to travel weird,” I added. “Hard surfaces. Long halls. You’ll hear something but not where it’s coming from until it’s right on top of you.”
“Stealth,” Snake Eyes said. “No disguises. No trying to look like anyone. Roman’s men will recognize us and let us pass if any of them are still breathing. Anyone else who doesn’t? They’ll show themselves by being confused. Or hostile. Either way, that tells you who they are.”
“Small teams,” Blackjack said. “We don’t need a parade. We need eyes and guns that know where to point. Jersey, you’re point. Valkyrie, you’re glued to his side. Snake Eyes, Spade, Turnpike, and Priest. That’s your run too. First wave. Myself, 8-Ball, Voodoo, Jabs and Ace on standby as second wave if you call and say the place is crawling. That will leave Miami, Mirage, Roadkill, Jackal, and Badger here to hold the fort down.” Blackjack then looked at me. “I’ll call Liberty shortly to give her an update on the situation.”
I nodded, feeling my heart rate notch up into familiar territory. Jersey’s gaze flicked to mine, a quick, sharp connection.A silent we’re really doing this? followed by a silent yeah.
“Roman’s tech guy gets us the feed in five,” Blackjack said checking his phone to see a text. “Miami, you go park your ass in the camera room and pretend you’re playing a very morbid video game. Pull anyone you need to help you interpret what you’re seeing.”
Miami pushed himself up, Quinn bracing his arm.
“Got it,” he said. “If I see a parade of suits or serpents, I’ll let you know.”
Blackjack’s expression hardened. “Listen up,” he said, raising his voice enough that there was no mistaking the shift. “This isn’t a rescue mission in a Hallmark movie. This is a war movie. Trust your gut. It’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.”
A little smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Liberty’s voice echoed in that phrasing. Better to apologize than ask for permission. Always.
“With that being said,” Blackjack went on, “you shoot first, ask questions later. Anybody points a gun at you, you don’t pause to see whose name is stitched on their fucking underwear. Nobody moves alone. Everybody keeps talking. You see something off, you say it. Loud. You watch each other’s backs. You don’t play hero. You get an opportunity to take Vladimir’s legs out from under him, you do it—but not at the cost of one of our own. Clear?”
