Speak Easy,Die Hard

The Moonlight Room was packed.

It was always packed on Fridays, but tonight, something in the air felt different. The jazz band played a little faster, the laughter was a little louder, and the booze flowed a little smoother.

The world outside was changing. Prohibition was supposed to kill places like this, but all it did was make them stronger.

And deadlier.

Tonight, Vincenzo Marchesi wasn't here for the music.

He was here for a reckoning.

Vincenzo sat in a booth at the back of the speakeasy, his face half-hidden in the dim glow of a low-hanging chandelier. Across from him, Salvatore Romano poured himself a drink, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

"You think Morello's gonna make a move tonight?" Sal asked.

Vincenzo didn't answer right away. Instead, he let his eyes wander the room.

Men in expensive suits leaned against the bar, laughing over illicit whiskey. Women in glittering dresses moved between them, their laughter sweet but practiced. Waiters in crisp white shirts dodged between tables, balancing trays of gin and champagne.

Everything looked normal.

But Vincenzo had been in this life long enough to know that normal could turn deadly in an instant.

He took a slow sip of his drink before answering.

"If I were Morello," Vincenzo said, "I wouldn't come through the front door."

Sal smirked. "Yeah? Then how?"

Vincenzo glanced toward the back of the room. A side entrance near the storage rooms. Unmarked, easy to miss. The kind of door only people who worked here would know about.

The kind of door someone could pay to leave open.

Vincenzo set his drink down. "Stay sharp."

Sal rolled his eyes. "When am I not?"

Vincenzo didn't answer.

Because at that moment, the front doors swung open.

And everything changed.

The first gunshot was almost drowned out by the music.

Almost.

For a second, nobody reacted. The band kept playing. The glasses kept clinking. The dancers kept swaying.

Then the second shot came.

And this time, the bullet hit someone.

Panic erupted.

Women screamed. Men shoved their way toward the exits. Tables overturned. The bartender dove behind the counter, bottles shattering as stray bullets ripped through the shelves.

Vincenzo and Sal moved at the same time.

Guns out. Eyes scanning.

Morello's men were coming through the front, pushing past fleeing customers, Tommy guns in their hands.

Vincenzo fired first. One shot, center mass. A man in a gray fedora crumpled to the floor.

Sal took down another with two quick shots, sending him crashing into a table.

But there were more of them. Too many.

Sal cursed. "They're trying to wipe us out in one night."

Vincenzo grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the bar. "We can't stay here."

Bullets tore through the speakeasy, ripping paintings off the walls, splintering tables, and shattering mirrors. The Moonlight Room was turning into a war zone.

Vincenzo ducked behind the bar, dragging Sal with him.

The bartender, Tommy "Two Fingers" DiNozzo, peeked up from behind a crate of whiskey. "You two got a goddamn plan?"

Sal grinned. "Yeah. Don't get shot."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Brilliant."

Vincenzo reloaded his gun. "How many exits?"

Tommy pointed. "One in the back, but if they're smart, they got guys there too."

Vincenzo cursed under his breath. Morello wasn't leaving anything to chance.

Which meant neither could he.

Sal checked his ammo. "We gotta move."

Vincenzo nodded. "Stick to cover."

Then they moved.

Fast. Precise. Lethal.

Vincenzo fired as he ran, hitting a man in the shoulder and sending him spinning into a table. Sal vaulted over the bar, tackling another man and slamming his skull into the polished wood.

One of Morello's men swung at Vincenzo with a broken chair leg.

Vincenzo ducked. Then put a bullet through his gut.

Blood splattered across the marble floor.

But Morello's men weren't stopping.

More gunfire. More bodies hitting the ground.

A stray bullet shattered a bottle near Sal's head.

Tommy swore. "You assholes are ruining my best whiskey!"

Vincenzo ignored him. He spotted a hallway leading toward the back exit.

Their only way out.

He turned to Sal. "Cover me."

Sal grinned. "With pleasure."

Sal popped up from behind cover, unloading a full clip into Morello's men, forcing them to take cover.

Vincenzo sprinted. One shot. Two shots. A third.

Every bullet found its mark.

They reached the back door-only to find two more gunmen waiting.

Sal skidded to a stop. "Shit."

Vincenzo didn't hesitate. He grabbed the nearest whiskey bottle and hurled it.

The glass shattered against one gunman's face, sending him reeling.

Sal took out the other with a single shot.

They kicked open the door-rushing out into the cold night.

The alley behind the Moonlight Room was dark and narrow, lined with stacks of empty crates and rusting fire escapes.

Vincenzo and Sal ran.

Behind them, Morello's men poured out of the speakeasy, guns blazing.

Bullets ricocheted off brick walls. Sparks. Shattered glass. Footsteps pounding against cobblestone.

Sal ducked behind a dumpster. "We can't outrun 'em."

Vincenzo's mind raced. Then he saw it.

An idling Ford Model T, its driver smoking a cigarette, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding.

Vincenzo sprinted.

The driver looked up. "Hey, what the-"

Vincenzo yanked him out.

"Sorry, pal," Sal muttered as he hopped into the passenger seat.

Vincenzo hit the gas.

The tires screeched. The car lurched forward.

Bullets tore through the back window as Morello's men fired after them.

Vincenzo swerved down a side street, dodging a fruit cart, sending apples flying into the air.

Sal whooped. "Now this is a goddamn getaway!"

Vincenzo barely heard him. His mind was already moving forward.

Tonight wasn't just an attack.

It was a declaration of war.

And if Morello wanted war?

Vincenzo was going to give it to him.

They didn't stop driving until they reached a safehouse on the other side of town.

Ricci was waiting.

He poured three glasses of whiskey. "I heard what happened."

Vincenzo took his drink. "Morello's not gonna stop."

Ricci sipped his whiskey. His eyes cold. Calculating.

"No," Ricci said. "He's not."

A long silence.

Then, Ricci smirked. "So let's hit him first."

Sal grinned. "Now you're talkin'."

Vincenzo set his glass down.

No more waiting. No more reacting.

Morello had made his move.

Now?

It was Vincenzo's turn.