“Good,” I say, pulling my trusty revolver out. “Who’s in the back?”
The guy shrugs, his reaction forcing me to put the barrel straight in his fucking mouth.
“Alright, alright.” He mumbles around the barrel. “The boss is in the back.”
I smile. “Thank you. Just to confirm, the boss meaning Russel Corsetti, right?”
He nods.
“Great, thanks again.” I tell the guy—always good to be polite—then I take a knee to open my bag, pulling out two Molotov cocktails I made earlier. Vinnie’s two-barrel is firmly on the two guys and Mia’s gun on the other man.
I knock on the door marked private personnel only, directly next to the bar, loud enough that’ll hear me, then while I wait for them to open, I light the gasoline-soaked rags hanging out from the bottles.
“Yeah, what the fuck is it?” The small, stocky, wannabe gangster motherfucker, Russel Corsetti, opens the door—a captain and son of the Corsetti family in New Jersey.
“It’s just me, sweetheart!” I say before throwing the bottles straight at him. One smashes on the fucker’s head, the other going straight in the room behind him, setting the walls inside aflame.
Suddenly, be it instinct or God knows what, Mia releases the lead of her gun straight into the guy’s head she’s aiming at. I turn around in surprise, watching her to see any signs of panic. She’s breathing deeply, looking down at her kill, but she’s not panicking.
Then, like a chain reaction, Vinnie puts down the two guys, making a bloody mess of the jukebox, while old Russel, the cocksucker, and Corsetti, fueled by the flames, comes charging out like a mad man, forcing me to unload my revolver on him, just to make him lie down.
And that’s not all—simultaneously, Huxley and I ordered men to hit all the joints connected to Corsetti and even did a clean sweep of any low life pushers we found in our side of Manhattan. Now if that ain’t a clear enough message, I don’t know what is.
“Mia, are you okay?” I ask her once we’d run outside the bar and jumped in the car. “What happened?”
“He moved,” she tells me, still panting from the exhilaration. “I wasn’t going to take the chance.” I smile, never more proud of her.
“You did the right thing,” says Vinnie. “Those are instincts you’re born with. Glad to see you have what it takes. Madrina, godmother.”