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4:00 a.m. — the one window when the Bonanno estate guards were at their laziest.
First, sunrise in June hit around 5:40, so they were already counting the minutes till shift change.
Second, their relief crew rolled in at 6:00 sharp. This was the dead-end stretch of the night watch, when eyelids got heavy and brains went fuzzy.
Billy and the Castro crew picked that exact sweet spot to move.
"Go. No witnesses. No survivors."
All sixteen men had scarves wrapped tight over their faces — no point giving the security cams a free headshot. They used the roof of their panel van as a launch pad and vaulted clean over the wall.
The estate was huge. Eight guards couldn't cover every inch. They stuck close to the main villa, leaving the perimeter wide open. Nobody even glanced toward the back fence.
"Mike, split into two teams. You take Sofia Bonanno. I'll grab Francis Ricci."
"Heh heh, so I get to have a little chat with the lady of the house?"
"Keep your dick in your pants. You fuck this up and Mr. Castro will skin you alive."
The second Frank's name dropped, Mike's grin vanished.
"Got it."
"Move."
The two squads crept toward the villa like shadows.
They weren't pros — just street muscle — so the Bonanno guards spotted them fast.
Billy didn't even bother staying quiet anymore.
"Light 'em up!"
Concentrated fire cut down half the guards in seconds. The Italians were outnumbered and outgunned. The fight was over almost before it started.
Only two guards made it inside the villa, hoping the maze of hallways would buy them time until LAPD showed.
Their collapse was so quick Billy actually snorted.
"These guinea fucks really let themselves go. Half of them probably haven't pulled a trigger since the nineties."
Classic Mafia problem — too many guys had traded guns for spreadsheets. The Irish never forgot how to fight.
But Billy still needed to stall. If the cops rolled up and the party was already over, the whole plan was fucked.
He grabbed Mike right as the big man started charging deeper.
"Easy, Mike. Watch your ass."
"What's wrong, Billy?"
"Bullets don't give a shit whose side you're on. I don't wanna lose any brothers tonight."
The Castro guys nodded, touched. None of them realized Billy was buying time.
"Relax, Billy! These guinea pussies are done. We'll crush 'em one-handed."
"Guinea" — the old slur for southern Italians. The kind of word that got you stomped in any real mob joint. But tonight nobody was in the mood to argue.
Still, the warning worked. The crew slowed down, moved more careful. Perfect.
---
Inside the master bedroom, Lawson and Sofia had already snapped awake at the first shots.
Sofia was shaking like a leaf. She'd never been this close to real violence.
"Lawson… someone really sent killers?"
"Didn't think they'd move this fast. Good thing I brought backup."
Lawson stayed ice-cool, already sliding into his tailored blue suit like he was heading to a board meeting. The contrast with Sofia's panic was night and day.
His calm bled into her. She stood, hands steadying as she helped him with the tie — first time she'd ever done it for a man.
The deep-blue suit turned him into something out of a noir film — dark king of the night.
Sofia couldn't help herself. She wrapped her arms around him, eyes glassy with something way deeper than fear.
"When I was a girl I used to dream about marrying the man I loved… tying his tie every morning before he left for the day. I even asked my mom how to do it right."
Lawson stroked her back.
"Sofia, power always comes with blood. You're gonna have to get used to that."
"Can we still win?"
"Absolutely. Stay here. This'll be over quick."
He gently pushed her back, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.
Right then the two surviving Bonanno guards came sprinting around the corner and almost crashed into him.
They saw a young guy walking out of the boss's wife's bedroom at 4 a.m. — suit perfect, not a hair out of place — and their faces did that awkward "we definitely know what's up" thing.
"Outside — how bad is it?"
"Mr. Lawson, it's bad. We're the only two left."
Lawson frowned. These guys were already broken; they had zero fight left.
"How many hostiles?"
"We… we don't know. More than us, that's for sure."
"Got it. Go get Ms. Koreykosova. I've got this hallway."
Before they could move, Eva's voice floated down the corridor.
"No need. I'm already here."
She was still rocking that fire-engine red dress, but the energy had flipped 180. The sexy rose was gone. Now she was pure predator — the kind of dangerous that made the two guards instinctively step back.
Lawson didn't flinch. He slipped on the hostility-tinted shades. In the dark they turned the whole hallway into a green-tinted night-vision playground.
"Ms. Koreykosova, your call."
Eva reached under her skirt and came up with a sleek Czech CZ-75.
"Child's play. I assume killing inside the estate is fine?"
(CZ-75)
Even moving careful, it only took Mike's team ten minutes to sweep the main building and reach the second-floor master suite hallway.
They thought they were ghosts — no lights, moving slow.
To Lawson they lit up like Christmas trees.
He calculated distance, stepped out from the corner, and squeezed the yellow-and-black Taser.
Mike dropped like a sack of bricks. Lucky for him he didn't piss himself the way Francis had.
The rest of the crew opened up instantly — seven submachine guns chewing the hallway.
Mob guys rarely aimed. They just held the trigger and prayed volume worked.
Lawson took a couple hits. The bulletproof suit laughed them off.
The moment their mags ran dry, Eva went to work.
Two precise CZ-75 shots shattered wrists. Then she charged.
Lawson had asked her to avoid killing inside the house if possible, so she went hands-on.
High heels, short sprint — suddenly she was in their faces.
Her fighting style was pure gymnastics porn — flips, splits, impossible angles. One guy got caught in a perfect scissor-hold around the neck and tapped out in seconds.
Lawson almost laughed. "Is that an attack or a reward?"
Even Eva couldn't drop seven armed men alone. Two guys managed to reload and swing their guns her way.
Lawson came in from behind, grabbed their skulls, and smashed them together. Lights out.
Less than a minute. Eight Castro guys unconscious. Eva took five, Lawson three.
"You two — tie these clowns up."
The Bonanno guards couldn't fight worth shit, but zip-tying was still in their wheelhouse.
"Yes, Mr. Lawson!"
"Hold up. You said there were way more than eight. Where's the rest?"
"We didn't lie, sir — at least a dozen total!"
"So half the crew's somewhere else…"
Lawson's face darkened. No need to guess where.
"Stay here and guard Mrs. Bonanno. Ms. Koreykosova — guest rooms. Now."
"On it."
---
Across the estate Billy had already reached the guest wing.
Alberto got two in the chest — quick and clean. Francis was coming with him alive.
"I gotta ask — who sent you?"
Billy kept shoving Francis forward, too busy worrying why the cops still weren't here to waste breath.
"You'll find out soon enough."
"Oh? Irish accent. I'm guessing I already know."
Sirens suddenly screamed outside the estate walls. Billy finally exhaled.
His guys tensed up hard.
"Fuck! LAPD's here already?"
"Stay frosty. Rich neighborhood — cops roll fast. Whole place is huge. They can't seal it off quick. We still got an exit. Tell the pickup team to be ready."
Billy had backup drivers waiting outside exactly for this.
The plan was simple: during the escape "chaos," Francis would "miraculously" slip free and fall straight into LAPD hands.
Only problem — Mike's team still hadn't linked up.
They should've been done by now. A cold feeling settled in Billy's gut.
Francis smirked.
"Sounds like you boys hit a snag. Need some advice?"
"Shut the fuck up and worry about your own skin."
Billy yanked him forward, heading to find Mike.
A woman's voice cut through the dark.
"They're over here!"
Gunfire exploded.
"Watch out!"
Billy reacted lightning-fast, using Francis as a human shield. No holes in him.
But three of his guys caught rounds in arms and legs — down and screaming.
Billy dragged Francis backward, yelling for the rest to fall back.
The Castro crew was stubborn. They just sprayed blindly toward the muzzle flashes.
Useless.
Lawson's Taser darts and Eva's CZ-75 picked them off one by one — wrist shots, knee shots, center-mass stuns.
"Mike!"
Billy couldn't see shit in the dark. He wasn't risking it. Using Francis like a riot shield, he dove through a window, rolled into the bushes, and ran.
Eva still tagged him once in the leg on the way out.
"Chase him?"
Eva glanced at the shattered glass, then at Lawson.
"No. Last thing we need is cops thinking we're the shooters."
Lawson stared at the flashing red-and-blue lights sweeping the driveway, face thoughtful.