"BANG"

I overturned a table halfway, providing my brother and I with some makeshift cover as bullets whizzed past our heads,

"What the HELL?" My brother exclaimed as he followed my lead, ducking behind the table. He sported a high top fade and his hazel eyes were wide, shocked at our business partners --turned assailants' betrayal.

This was supposed to have been a routine exchange. Us providing a briefcase of white.. lets just say powder, and our business partners, a briefcase of cash. Needless to say things hadn't gone as planned. I became skeptical when we were asked to come upstairs and if not for my paranoia we would've been swiss cheese about now. Trapped behind a table in a medium sized trap house of sorts wasn't exactly much better, however. My mind raced on a way to get us out of this with our bodies intact.

"Did you see how many?" I called out to my brother. He had recovered from his temporary shock and now his eyes were popping out his head for an entire different reason. Bloodlust. 

He pulled out a pistol from his back pocket, appraising it briefly, no doubt wishing it was of a bigger variety. "I saw about three!" He replied before peeking out from the side of the table and letting loose a few shots of his own in their general direction.

I pulled out an identical pistol from under my vest. Unlike my brother, who wore a casual blue jeans with a simple white polo shirt, I currently wore my usual tuxedo suit, only missing a bowtie or any tie for that matter, along with matching black dress pants and black leather closed-laced oxfords. I was a business man after all, albeit what many would call an immoral one. 

My brother pulled back as the rain of bullets started back, cursing under his breath. "Any bright ideas? Could really use one right about now!"

I didn't respond, the gunfire ceasing again not easing my mind one bit. That meant they were probably advancing. They had been down a long hall and I had noticed, just barely, the sounds of gunfire seemed to be getting closer and closer which meant I was running out of time to save our asses. They probably had backup on the way too, something we ourselves would usually have but we wanted to do this ourselves and clear our heads. Seems like that wasn't exactly going to happen, unless a bullet to the head counts.

"Ok," I finally said, drawing my brother's attention. "I have a plan but it's gonna be a bit risky and we're gonna have to move quick."

He motioned over the table at our assailants. Not really a choice.

I nodded and dug into my vest pocket again. My hand came back out bearing what looked identical to a grenade. I had been saving this for a rainy day and well, it was currently raining bullets so now or never.

My brother reacted how anyone would react when they realized the person they travelled with had a potentially live grenade just tucked away in their suit the entire time. "What the hell, dude? Are you crazy?" He hissed at me, eyeing the object warily.

I shook my head quickly, painfully aware of our time running low. "It's not real, it's a replica." My brother didn't breathe a sigh of relief at the discovery, instead he now scowled at the seeming uselessness of the object now. Can't please him, eh? "However, I'm going to throw it out there like it's real and it should make them at least pause. T--"

"Then we bolt for the staircase?" My brother interrupted, briefly looking at the staircase that was a few feet to our left.

I nodded. "See if you can shoot them when they're running away , too." Being cornered like animals had left a foul taste in my mouth and I most certainly felt the need for all the people responsible to perish. I banked hard on our attackers believing it was a real grenade because I remembered Mr. Owens mostly employed former military soldiers. With any luck their PTSD would kick in and save the day. I made a mental note to donate a bit to military outposts if we survived, saving Americans indeed.

Thankfully my brother took in the plan quickly, immediately angling himself toward the staircase and looking ready to leap into action. I wasted no time in lobbing the grenade out into the open. "Now!"

I followed my brother hustling toward the staircase, feeling bare out in the open like birds being hunted but as I glanced in the direction of our foes, half expecting my head to be blown off, I realized I needn't worry. My plan had been on point. The three soldiers stood glued to the spot, panic written all over their faces like deer caught in headlights. One soldier was on the ground half turned away while the other two stood, simply staring in disbelief. I guess if I was advancing on a trapped target, them throwing a grenade from an expensive suit, in the middle of the city would be on the checklist of least expected things too. I almost felt bad for them, the fear that clouded their eyes, no doubt memories flooding back of their service.

I helped my brother put them out of their misery with a spray of bullets, not exactly finding it hard to hit the unmoving targets. We raced down the stairs with me in front. I was already thinking ahead, wondering if they would have our car surrounded, why did Owens do this in the first place? Was there an unknown factor? As I faded into my thoughts, I found myself face to face with another one of Owen's men coming up the stairs. Thankfully, he was moving with such haste, probably wondering why they were taking so long, that he seemed just as surprised to bump into me. I recovered from the surprise encounter quicker and barged my shoulder into his, sending his already off balance body tumbling down the rest of the stairs. 

I shot his rigid body on the way out of the double doors, turning in the opposite direction of our car, now sure they would have others waiting around it. I tried to walk as normal and unhurried as possible while, well hurrying as much as I could. My brother wordlessly followed suit without so much of a glance back, catching on fast. I guess a 20 year old in a full suit and a 19 year old in a polo shirt and jeans was not inconspicuous enough because soon after I heard shouting. 

Making out a "That's them!", we broke into a run and gunfire again started, echoing into the starlit sky. Just a typical day in the life, I guess.

"Taxi!" I called out to a passing taxi, waving it down. The color drained from the man's face as he looked over, taking in the scene. No doubt seeing two men running from a group of gun-slinging men wasn't high on the taxi list of stopping for passengers. Nonetheless, recognition dawned on the man's face when he met my eyes and with clear hesitation he squeaked to a stop.

We hopped in quickly , ducking down as the rain of bullets followed. The taxi man did a rather impressive U-turn and sped off. Maybe he was a crime fighting vigilante in a past life. The man was obviously agitated but knew better than to ask questions.

I straightened myself on the seat, brushing off my clothes. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Mr. Colt." I doubt that was really how he was feeling but he did a good job masking it. 

That's right, Colt was the family name that brought fear to many. Vito Colt was my full name and my brother's was Michael Colt. Many knew him as Mad Dog, however, a testament to his love for war and violence --of which he often dealt out. I muttered an address to the driver and sat back.

"Why do you think Owens would do that?" Michael asked, looking back to see if we were being followed.

"It's unlike Owens to attempt something like this," I said, thinking of the stocky business man whom we had been partners with for a long time. "I think someone forced his hand."

Michael sat quietly, lost in his own thoughts I figured. "You're probably right. Ol' fatso loved that white stuff, cutting off his supply chain is weird." He seemed relieved that it potentially wasn't a direct betrayal.

I nodded absentmindedly. I didn't share in that relief. The fact that Owens had gone through with this meant, either a powerful figure was trying to wipe out the gang or someone who had dirt on him. Either way it didn't hold well for us. 

Ever since the brutal death of our parents earlier this month, the public has been under the impression that we were weakened with someone as young as myself taking over. I had a good reputation but that didn't change the fact I was leading a crime syndicate at the age of 20. It was up to me to prove I was as formidable, if not more than my Pops. The death of our parents still stung, they had been great parents, the best possible you could expect from Dons anyway.

Much wasn't known about their death to the average person, heck even we were still putting together some pieces on who orchestrated the hit. We had been making steady progress, making connections to that night but the truth still stood a bit out of reach. At the moment however, I was more focused on the whole proving myself to the world problem and I seemed off to a good start. Getting betrayed by a longtime business partner? Check.

We arrived at the destination soon after. I stuck two hundred dollar bills into the taxi man's top pocket on my way out, again muttering my thanks. I could've not paid him at all and he wouldn't bat an eylelash but I acknowledged his commendable service. 

We stepped out to a rather large building, a sign lit up at the top, reading 'Smoky Poker'. Behind the building sat two interlocking ones, much taller than the main building with many windows indicating rooms showing. The casino was actually a casino resort and it was all mine. Well, ours. The mob's front business. Mob leader by day, casino owner by night. Really hit the spot.

We walked into the building. Walking past automatic doors and security to be greeted by the usual hustle and bustle you would expect from a casino. Various activities were going on that involved well, gambling. Women walked around with tight fitting dresses offering drinks to and fro. My brother especially liked this activity and forgotten was the near death experience in the face of the power of tights wearing attractive women. We headed towards the elevator at the far end and had we taken a moment longer, I imagined I would've had to drag my brother the rest of the way. 

We finally made it to the top floor, just as I was wishing I had taken a drink.

"Head to the conference room." I said, turning down a different path from my brother. Eventually I stopped in front of a room. I heard the rhythmic thumping of --lets say a drum. I swiped open the door with my keycard. Perks of being the owner, never gets old.

I was greeted by a scene straight out of a porno. I'll skip the gory details and lets just say, the thumping I had heard wasn't a drum. "Meeting in the conference room!" I said before hurrying back out, barely dodging a plate that was aimed at my head with a few curses. Poor guy.

Me and Michael didn't have to wait long for her arrival. Our big sister walked in, exuding that confidence fitting of a Colt. She might've given me an extra long glare but I ignored it, more pressing matters at hand than a cry for privacy.

The conference room was pretty big without any windows, powered solely by the phenomenon known as AC. I sat at the head of a long table, a spot that was reserved only for my father just a month ago. My sister was the oldest of us three, making her the next head but she had refused the position, claiming I was more fit for the role. Reyna (my sister) wasn't one to pass on her responsibilities for no good reason, so I considered her reasoning genuine. We still operated like a team, having votes on the best course of action when a situation presented itself. Reyna often dealt with the casino operations, leaving the actual dangerous work to us. You didn't hear that from me though.

"What was so urgent?" She asked, annoyance painted in her voice. She sat down opposite Michael at the long table. Her long, black hair was a mess currently and I decided it was best to not wonder why.

"We were set up on the transaction." I replied, figuring getting straight to the point was best.

Reyna recoiled in shock. Us getting shot at? Happens pretty often. Us being set up by way of betrayal though? Not so often. "By Owens?" She asked, regaining her composure.

I nodded then recounted our eventful night. From us being led up the stairs into a trap to the taxi man saving the day. 

Reyna shook her head at the end of the story. "One day you're gonna pull an elephant out of that damn suit." She remarked, still stuck on my fake grenade ploy of all things. 

"We're gonna have to find out what caused Owen's sudden change of heart." I said, ignoring the comment.

"He'd better have a good reason for that --or we're gonna have a lot of trouble finding rocks big enough to sink him to the bottom of the ocean." Michael piped in with a sneer. Ever the vengeful poet.

"He's probably going to be laying low, though.." Reyna reasoned, lighting a pre rolled blunt that I kept stacked on the table. 

I nodded, "We're going to have to wait it out a bit, play by ear so to speak."

"I hate playing it by ear, especially when my head was almost blown off because of this guy." Michael complained.

"Answers tend to be less truthful when they are rushed." I reminded him. Something our Dad used to say. He had explained it meant the whole answer eventually comes to light for the patient person, but the impatient person gets only a piece of the truth. Michael wasn't a big fan of that one.

He didn't respond to that one, getting up to pour himself a glass of vodka, of which I also kept stacked on the table. 

Just then someone burst into the room, throwing me into a panic. All three of us had our hidden guns drawn at the source of the interruption in no time, saying we were on high alert was an understatement. We were the source of many threats, some obviously empty from nobodies but some held a little more merit thus we were always ready for something to pop off.

A panicked young man stood at the door, wearing the uniform of our casino 'employees'. I didn't lower my gun but nodded at him to relay his message or reason for being here.

The man didn't seem too pleased with three guns pointed at him but he complied. "A --a man is demanding to see... see yo-- you in your office." he stated timidly.

I raised an eyebrow quizzically. "And you informed this man that I only do meetings by way of appointments, yes?"

The man nodded. "Of course sir! He has an entourage of what looks like bodyguards and is refusing to leave without meeting you, however..." 

"Describe what he looks like." Reyna commanded, finally lowering her gun to turn on the TV that hung on the wall. All the cameras were displayed on the TV, cameras of which were the highest level possible, some features which weren't even publicly out yet such as face recognition.

The man shook his head, "He wears a hood that hides his face, he cannot be identified."

I considered my options quietly. Call some Mafia muscle to forcefully put him out, risking damages and creating a scene. Meet with the man, risking direct harm to myself but also hearing him out. 

"I could go down there and get 'em sorted out, brother." Michael chimed in. He had long since lowered his gun and downed a shot of vodka. It might do him well to let off some steam.

"Vito!" Reyna suddenly hissed, eyes glued to the TV. 

I followed her gaze and saw a specific camera angle pulled up, full screen. It showed near the entrance where, as the employee had stated, a man was surrounded by people who looked straight out of Men in Black. But, it was the insignia on their suits that stood out and had made Reyna get my attention. That wasn't just some random insignia.

"Call him up." I commanded the employee. The man nodded politely and seemed glad to leave the room, escaping with haste.

"Am I missing something?" Michael asked, looking between the two of us.

"Michael, those are the mayor's bodyguards." Reyna informed, eyes still glued to the screen.

I scratched my head, thoughts racing. The insignia wasn't well known by the public and thus the Mayor, wearing a hood for secrecy was possible. But why would the Mayor want to meet with me? And not be seen doing it? This wasn't looking good but either way I would soon find out it seems. I poured myself a glass of Vodka and downed two back to back shots, rolling my shoulders when I was finished like a boxer about to enter the ring.

Time to see what he wants.