Roman set the papers down. The offer was too good to be true.
"Something on your mind?" Anthony asked.
"The cut," Roman said, trying to keep his voice even. "It's been bumped up."
"Yes." Anthony nodded. "Since you've shown such... sincerity... in your expansions, we felt it was time to pay you back."
Roman nodded awkwardly.
"Is that man Paul Vaxlar?" Anthony asked, his eyes flicking toward the balcony.
Roman looked up. Paul was there, leaning against the railing, staring down at them with hollow eyes. "Yes. Haven't you seen him before?"
"No."
"I guess he was a secret, even for you," Roman muttered, reaching for the pen.
"Boss!"
A desperate shout shattered the tension. A man burst into the hall, lungs heaving, his clothes drenched in sweat. He stumbled toward the table, eyes wide with terror.
"In the boxes... the boxes... inside are—"
Bang!
The man's head snapped back. He dropped instantly, blood blooming across the floor.
Roman's gaze whipped to the guard behind Anthony. Faint gray smoke curled from the barrel. His gaze dropped lower to Anthony.
"I didn't know Paul Vaxlar, isn't because he was a secret," Anthony said flatly. "It's because he was never one of us. But tonight, he'll be the reason everyone in this room dies."
Out on the balcony, time slowed.
Paul glanced left. The nearest man in black had already locked eyes with him, gun rising.
He grabbed Timothy by the scruff of the neck and pulled him into the line of fire. The bullets hit Timothy's chest in quick succession. Paul shoved the collapsing body forward, straight into the shooter. The guard stumbled under the weight, firing blind.
Paul hurled a glass at him and moved. The bullets caught it mid-air, scattering shards across the floor ahead. He closed the distance fast, ducking low, sliding between the man's legs and driving his heel into the back of his calf. The man dropped to one knee.
Paul was already behind him. The man spun, bringing the gun around. Paul kicked it out of his hand before it found an angle, then drove his right leg into the man's face. His head snapped back.
Paul stepped over him, stomped once into his gut. The man folded, coughing hard.
Two bullets. He went still.
Paul crouched, checked the body, and pulled two spare magazines from the vest. He swapped one in, stood, and started looking for his real target.
Roman huddled behind the bar, blood soaking his left shoulder. He risked a peek, but a hail of bullets pinned him down.
"All this over that son of a bitch." He muttered. His eyes scanned the club: gunfire, falling bodies, desperate screams.
"Can't we settle this with just Paul Vaxlar?" Roman yelled.
"Afraid not," Anthony's calm voice replied, closer than it was ten seconds ago. "Everyone dies tonight, Roman. It's the only way to ensure the silence is absolute."
"But why?" Roman grunted, grabbing a bottle of alcohol, fingers shaking as he ripped a strip of fabric from his sleeve. "Just 'cause I ID'd the wrong guy once doesn't mean I'll do it again. I'm an asset."
"Orders are orders. You know how it works."
"Yeah, I know," Roman muttered, shoving the cloth into the bottle's neck. "I know goddamn well."
"All this for one guy?" Roman laughed, "I don't even know what to say to that."
"Wish I could tell you more," Anthony said, stopping just yards away. He flicked his hand. His lead guard sidestepped, flanking the left side of the bar. "But I got nothing on him."
Roman chuckled dryly. "Then I'll find it myself."
He waited until he sensed the Presence nearby, then lit a rag and tossed it high.
The surprised guard looked up, quickly realizing it was a distraction. His gaze snapped back to the counter. A bottle was coming at him.
He fired preemptively. The bottle ignited, engulfing the area within ten feet in flames, catching him too.
Anthony dashed from behind, cutting through the dying flames. He aimed the gun right behind the counter.
No one.
Anthony had expected as much. This job wasn't going to be a cakewalk.
Roxy stayed low.
A man entered the VIP room, eyes sweeping the corners. Finding nothing, he raised his gun and moved forward.
Something rolled across the floor. He paused, brow furrowing, and tracked the sound to the left. A round glass came to rest in front of him.
He heard footsteps behind him and spun, firing blind.
Two bullets found a body near the exit. The man turned back, but Roxy was already on him, driving him off his feet. They hit the floor together. Roxy reached for the gun. The man held on. They struggled for it, the man's weight slowly winning, until Roxy drove his temple hard into the man's head.
His vision swam. The man barely reacted.
He grabbed Roxy's collar, shoved him back, then yanked him forward. Their heads met with a crack. Blood ran warm from Roxy's temple. He was thrown back, ears ringing, the room tilting at the edges. The man stood over him and raised the gun.
The shot never came.
The man coughed — once, wet — and blood pushed through his fingers as his hand found his neck. The gun dropped. He turned slowly.
Paul stood at the entrance.
He shot the man in the head and moved into the room. Picked up the fallen gun, checked the magazine, and tossed it across to Roxy as he was getting up.
"Try to stay alive."
Paul came out of the room and turned right. Two men were already sprinting toward him. He shot them both without breaking stride.
"I don't have time to identify who belongs to whom. Not that it matters. First I've to find their boss. Get what he knows. Then I'll think of leaving this place."
Paul had already made a decision. Kill anyone who gets on his way. Doesn't matter which side they belong to, because now everyone should already know about him.
Why kill everyone?
Paul hoped he'd get an answer soon.
The floor was chaos. Bodies moving in every direction, most of them heading for the upper exit. Paul knew that exit was probably a death trap; no way anyone was getting out using those stairs.
He grabbed the railing and swung down to the floor below. People spotted him fast. Three men came at him screaming. He put them down.
A shot from several yards out. Paul dodged left, but a bullet still grazed his arm. He found cover and held it, leaning out only long enough to fire and keep heads down, then moving again. He reached a door and pressed against it, using the frame.
Rounds punched through the wood. He waited, then eased the door half-shut.
Two men leaned out to check. He shot them both and let go of the knob.
Heavy footsteps came from inside the room. Before he could react, a big man slammed into him. The metal railing snapped. The man gripped Paul's waist, and they both fell toward the ground floor.
Paul, already anticipating an ambush, recovered mid-air, pressed the muzzle against the guy's temple, and fired. Then, he quickly flipped the guy's body in front of him, softening the landing.
Paul scrambled to his feet, standing in the middle of the chaos.
He turned to find some cover and saw four guys in black. They saw him too. Paul reacted faster, aiming for their heads, and took them down.
Click-click. Empty.
One guy was still standing, changing his magazine.
Paul threw the gun and dash forward. The guy sidestepped and raised his gun to fire, but Paul was already inches away, his thumb blocking the trigger.
The guy looked up, taken aback. "Paul Vaxlar."
Paul stripped the barrel from the frame, pulled the magazine free, and shoved him back in one motion.
"And you are?"
Anthony dropped the busted gun. "Your executioner."