46. Simon

It's half an hour past sunset as I speed to the oasis. I make a few calls on the way, driving like an absolute maniac, first to Vito then to a few more Capos I can trust. The word spreads, and soon the full weight of the Bianco Famiglia will descend onto my home.

I don't know what's happening over there.

It could be Dad trying to end the stalemate, or it could be Santoro making his move. Either one is terrible, and I don't know how this is going to go if there are Bianco guys at the other end of my gun barrel.

I'm fucking terrified. I want to pretend like I feel absolutely nothing, like I'm some broken, fucked-up psychopath killer, but I'm goddamn terrified that this is going to be the end of my family. If it's my brother killing my father's soldiers then there's no way we'll ever recover from an internal fight like that, at least not the same as we were before. And if it's Santoro?—

I don't even want to imagine what might happen if Santoro takes control of the oasis.

My sisters are both there. My mother, my injured father, my brother, his wife, and all the guards I grew up with, my people are all in that little slice of heaven we carved out of the heart of the city.

I don't know if they're alive or dead.

I hear the crack of gunfire as I get closer. It's a constant, staccato sound, almost like fireworks. Hell, half the people I pass act like nothing's going down, like this is just some early evening celebration and everyone should go about their business.

But it's what I don't hear that really bothers me.

There's a lot of shooting, which means there's a lot of fighting—but there aren't any fucking sirens.

This is Chicago. Yeah, there are a lot of murders in Chicago, but that doesn't mean the CPD would ignore a goddamn full-on shootout.

Which means someone on the inside of the department is holding them back.

I should be more cautious. I'm dimly aware of that as I hit the crossroad that leads to the oasis entrance.

But the second I spot bodies lying on the sidewalk, my mind goes blank, and all I can do is push down the gas and whip my truck right onto the block.

There are corpses where the usual guards would be. Their bodies are mangled, ripped to pieces, and it's my first clue about what's going on. Those are my father's boys and they died trying to hold the line, which means this is most likely an attack from outside.

The moment I'm across the border and into the oasis, gunfire rakes across my truck, breaking the window and the windshield and pelting my face and side with glass.

I slam on the brakes and turn to the left. The front bumper rams into someone else's truck and I'm thrown against the steering wheel, but the airbag blows, and my face is mostly cushioned as it slams me back against the seat. My ears are ringing and there's more gunfire all around me, and I'm barely conscious enough to unlatch my seatbelt, kick open my door, and throw myself down onto the street.

My head's a dizzy wreck. Across from me, on the other side of the cars, the houses have their doors kicked in. Those homes are usually empty—they're for visitors and various guards and soldiers that need a break—but right now their windows are smashed in and they look like they've been ransacked. There's another body lying on the sidewalk, but I can't tell who it is.

More gunfire strafes my truck. I draw my handgun and lean against the side, hurrying back toward the bed. The moment I look out, there's more gunfire from across the street and it nearly takes my fucking skull off. I duck back down, cursing as my truck's lit up, the tires loudly popping. But once the shooting is over, I reach into the bed and snatch a canvas-wrapped package, narrowly pulling it out before more shooting whizzes through the air inches above my skull.

It's fucking chaos. There's screaming and shouting from further in the oasis, but whoever's attacking must've been smart enough to leave a few guys behind to ambush anyone stupid enough to come inside.

Heart racing, I unzip the bag and slowly draw out a high-powered sniper rifle. I fit the scope, hands surprisingly steady, and load the magazine. I tuck two spares into my back pockets.

I throw myself forward, duck down between two busted-up SUVs, and crouch on their far side. I'm wide open if anyone's hiding in the ravaged houses but there's nothing else I can do but hope the attackers are only on one side. I hurry forward, putting some space between myself and my truck, and keeping as low as possible.

When I stop to take a break, I risk another peek into the street.

My breath gets caught in my throat.

Parked in the very center of the oasis are four giant armored vehicles, the kind that security companies use to transport huge loads of cash. Their backs and doors are open and men are posted all around their perimeter carrying bulletproof shields and wearing bulletproof armor. They're firing long guns, modified AK-47s and AR-15s, while men in the houses around them return fire.

There are more corpses nearby. The stink of gunpowder and death is thick in the air. Bodies bleed in small streams, filling the gutters. Some are covered in armor, but most are guys wearing street clothes with small caliber pistols on the ground beside them.

My people. Slaughtered.

Leaning on the trunk of a sedan, I take aim at the armored man closest to me and pull the trigger. The rifle bucks and the bullet slaps into his helmet, knocking him sideways, and he drops. He's either dead, his brains a scrambled mess in his skull, or he's knocked out and won't be getting up for a while.

I aim at another, steady myself with a breath, and fire again. Another downed attacker, and this time I get the pleasure of a spray of blood from the bullet hole.

Another. Another. I kill five before they return fire, forcing me back down.

There are more of them. Too many of them. Eventually they'll flank me and take me down, no matter how fast I move, but my head's surprisingly clear.

This is my home. This is the oasis, the most heavily guarded city street in the whole fucking world. I'm going to die here rather than let these people invade what's mine, and I'm going to die with a fucking smile on my face.

I scramble from my position and change angles. I take down another shooter, but this time they're quick to pick me out and I'm forced to hide again. Cursing myself, I try to sprint into a nearby house, but a spray of bullets forces me down onto the ground.

I'm caught out on the sidewalks, trapped between the cars and the house. I start crawling to the cars, the rifle held across my chest like I'm in the military, but I hear shouting nearby. The attackers must be coming for me, since I have one of the few guns powerful enough to pierce their body armor.

Except when I look up, it isn't a man in black standing over me with a gun.

It's Davide waving from a nearby house.

He ducks back behind a pillar and fires in at the shooters. I hesitate, staring at him, before shoving myself up to my knees, then scramble toward him keeping as low as I can.

More Bianco soldiers appear then. They all fire at once, giving me enough cover to make the fifteen-foot dash through open air to reach the porch. I throw myself through the door as the attackers regroup for a counter-assault, and I hit the ground with a skid as the windows are wrecked by rifle fire.

I find Davide in the back in the kitchen. He's bleeding from an ugly gash across his forehead and drinking a glass of water, his eyes completely clear and a strange, vicious smile on his face like he's enjoying this.

"What's going on?" I press and he pulls me into a tight hug.

"Uncle Santoro," he says, his voice a hoarse growl. "Dad's lying low with Mom, Elena, Laura, and Stefania. They're holed up in the family house."

That's good. It's the most heavily fortified of all the structures, basically one giant panic room. "How many are out there?"

"Hard to say. They threw open those fucking trucks and flooded the goddamn zone. We've been retaking the place house by house for the last twenty minutes."

I grab his arm and pull him close. "Where the fuck are the cops?"

He howls a laugh, throwing his head back. "I'd bet my fucking balls Uncle Santoro pulled every string he possibly could to make sure the CPD took their goddamn time coming out here."

This was a mess. A fucking nightmare. It was going to be a tangle of court cases and bureaucratic red tape for the next ten years, and we're going to have to spend all our political capital just to make sure the family isn't absolutely ruined.

Which Santoro would've known. Coming here, to our home, and doing something like this, he couldn't have thought that would end us.

No, he wants to make it impossible for us to fight back. He wants to create a major news story and have the whole country talking about how Chicago's a lawless hellscape where gangs have gun battles in the goddamn street. That'll make sure city hall is so far up our ass we can't walk without the mayor tickling our collective prostate.

"We have to clear them out," I snarl at Davide. "Before the cops show up."

He spreads his hands like no fucking shit. "If you have a plan, now's the time to tell me." There's more gunfire from outside and a few screams of pain. Davide stares at the front door like all he wants to do is rush those trucks and die in a blaze of glory.

"I'll make a call," I tell him and shove him toward a chair. "Don't get yourself fucking killed. Imagine how pissed Stefania would be."

He grunts and seems unhappy but at least he doesn't rush outside. I duck out the back door, nodding at a few injured soldiers, and pull out my phone. It feels fucked making a call right now, but Vito answers on the first ring.

I tell him the deal. I tell him how bad things are and how it'll only get worse. He's two minutes away, but I tell him to wait.

"Get everyone together," I say and lay out my plan.

Vito doesn't like it. He cackles like a madman and tells me I'm insane for even suggesting it. But when I push, he finally relents.

"Five minutes, little Don," he says and hangs up the phone.

I shove it into my pocket. "I don't love that nickname," I murmur before finding Davide. "In five minutes, we need to have every single one of our soldiers laying down cover fire. Do you hear me?"

"You have a plan." His eyes narrow. "Does it involve killing everyone down there?"

"No, it involves saving our fucking family. Spread the word."