Nick stood and looked at Matty, who was obviously stunned but still in. Good—at least the betrayal had not spread beyond one stupid guido. “Hood him and box him. I’ll deal with him after.”
Matty nodded, and Danny, one of Dom’s crew, helped him drag Chi-Chi away. No one spoke until they were back. When they were, Nick said to the men assembled, “There is no reward in treason. But there is retribution. Remember that. If you need a clearer lesson, then come to the docks tonight and see the retribution in its full flower.” He gave that a beat to sink in, and then said, “Now. The real plan.” And he explained it.
~oOo~
The real plan was half as complicated as the decoy plan and twice as dangerous. But the families had the edge, since their enemies were expecting a different target approached at a different time. Instead of going for Stone after the exchange, they were going for the cartel and Stone in the middle. Twice the enemies, twice the risk, twice the result.
So when forty-three Italians from five different families converged on a gutted elementary school in a derelict rural area outside of Danbury, Connecticut, the thirty-plus members of the Zapata cartel and Jackie Stone’s crew assembled there were taken unawares.
Their assault had two prongs—stealth from the perimeter and straight in from the front. The frontal assault, as planned, caught the Zapatas attention first, giving the men on the perimeter another edge.
Nick was not reckless, but neither was he one to hang back and let men with less power and more to lose take his risk. Moreover, he wanted to make it clear that the cartel was not facing a bunch of guineas with little brains and big guns. He led the frontal push, Brian at his side—and Vio Marconi, Enzo’s son and underboss, at his other side.
They drove in in three armored SUVs and piled out, using the trucks for cover. The men inside the school came roaring out of the front doors of the old school in a wave, their fully automatic rifles filling the air with metallic thunder.
The goal was to keep Jackie Stone and Emilio Zapata, the most important targets, alive in this storm of bullets. Stone for information, Zapata for a message.
The next minutes were a chaos of bullets and bodies. Nick kept his field of vision simultaneously narrow and wide, getting good focus on targets before him and keeping his periphery open to prevent being blindsided. It required a depth of cognition and perception far beyond that which most people needed, and it took a massive amount of energy to maintain.
The AR15 magazine went dry as Nick brought a Colombian down, and he caught movement to his right. He dropped the AR and pulled his Beretta from its holster as he turned. He fired as soon as he sighted on one of Stone’s men.
“Nick!” He heard Brian’s voice from behind him and wheeled around to see his friend sailing at him, his empty arms outstretched. Where was his weapon? In the thick of the gunfire, one shot sounded out somehow more loudly than any other. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and Nick would be sure for the rest of his life that he saw every drop of blood spray that left the back of Brian’s neck in an arcing plume.
His friend hit him full force, blood leaving his neck in great gouts, and knocked Nick flat, sending all the air from his lungs in a rush. The Zapata who’d fired came forward to see what damage he’d wrought, and Nick raised his Beretta and shot without aiming. When the man dropped, Nick rolled, putting Brian on his back.
“Brian! Fuck, you stupid son of a bitch!”
He was alive, but his spine was exposed, nerves showing like so much capellini, and his mouth was full of blood. He died with his eyes open, but without seeing Nick leaning over him, shouting at his stupid, brave, loyal face.
Nick sensed someone coming from his left and raised his gun, taking a scant moment to aim before he fired. And then he stood and got back to the business of taking these fuckers down.
~oOo~
When it was over, only the Council was left standing. With three key exceptions, all of Stone’s men, and all of the Zapatas, were dead—killed either in the fight or after it. Ten Council men were dead, including Brian and four other Pagano men. Vio Marconi was badly injured, shot in the shoulder, but he was on his feet and barking orders to his men to start rounding up the bodies. Arrangements had already been made for a mass burial; everyone had expected blood.
Nick went back to Brian’s body and waved away the Marconi men who’d come to carry him to lie with the other Council dead. But when he squatted down to lift his friend himself, Dom Addario grabbed his shoulder.
“No, boss. We got him. You have work to do.”