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To execute this phase of the plan, Alberto had procured a batch of suppressors for the submachine guns, and the men pulling the triggers all belonged to Johnny Tran's crew.
Only by using Tran's men could they guarantee the information wouldn't leak.
After the barrage of suppressed gunfire, only three people remained standing in the luxury private room. These three were the capos who supported Francis, and they were about to become highly crucial "witnesses" for tonight's operation.
"Is it done?"
"Mr. Bruno, a few of them are still twitching."
Johnny Tran answered Alberto.
Alberto never expected the day would come when someone would call him "Mister."
This "Mister" carried a completely different weight than when a stranger said it; it signified Alberto's massive elevation in status within the Bonanno family.
"Then hand the guns to these three gentlemen. If they want to align with Mr. Ricci, they need to prove their loyalty first."
This was a classic blood oath. From ancient times to the present, the rules of the underworld have never changed.
The three capos backing Francis had no other choice but to put finishing bullets into their former colleagues. If they refused, Johnny Tran's men would be putting bullets into them next.
Alberto nodded in satisfaction.
"Tran, I'm taking these three out of here. The rest is on you. Just stick to the plan."
"Don't worry, Mr. Bruno. I'll handle everything!"
Alberto patted Johnny Tran on the shoulder, then led the three grim-faced capos out of the luxury room.
The time was exactly 10:30 PM.
Johnny Tran checked his watch and signaled his men to get ready.
Not long after, a car pulled up to the entrance of the Korean restaurant. Three men stepped out: a massively built bald man and his two crew members.
Upon getting out, the trio noticed the restaurant's front doors were wide open, yet the inside appeared completely deserted.
"Dom, what's the play?"
Dominic scanned the distance, seemingly searching for something, but found nothing.
"We'll find out when we get inside. Let's go!"
As the three stepped into the restaurant, Vince yelled out.
"Johnny Tran! The Torettos are here!"
No response. The dead silence made the Toretto crew highly suspicious.
"Did Tran lose his nerve?"
Vince scratched his head.
"Sweep the ground floor first!"
Thanks to Brian's earlier recon posing as a customer, the crew had a rough idea of the restaurant's layout.
It was a two-story standalone building. The first floor housed the main dining hall and kitchen, the second floor contained private VIP rooms, and the basement held a cold storage unit for ingredients.
They swept the entire first floor but found absolutely nothing. Not a single employee, and definitely no sign of Johnny Tran.
Dominic looked toward the staircase. Jesse hesitated, clearly feeling a spike of fear.
"Dom, you think it's an ambush up there?"
Vince slapped Jesse hard on the back.
"The fuck are you talking about? Even if it's an ambush, we're going up! Right, Dom?"
Dominic nodded.
"Exactly! Ambush or not, we're going up! Stay sharp and don't do anything stupid!"
With that, Dominic took the lead and headed up the stairs.
The second-floor hallway was heavily dimmed. Light spilled out from only one open door down the hall.
The Toretto crew approached the lit room with extreme caution, only to find Mia tied to a chair inside. Nobody else was there.
"Where the hell is Johnny Tran?"
Jesse asked instinctively, completely thrown off by the empty room.
Dominic didn't give a shit about Tran right now. He rushed over to check on his sister. Finding that she was only unconscious with no obvious signs of trauma, the bald man quickly began untying her.
Right at that moment, the deafening roar of unsuppressed submachine gunfire erupted from the room next door.
The sudden gunfire terrified the Toretto crew, making all three dive to the floor without a second of hesitation.
Hitting the deck under fire is a survival instinct permanently carved into the bones of every American. Anyone lacking that reflex is naturally selected out of American society.
Simultaneously, the unsuppressed gunfire was heard by several different factions secretly staking out the restaurant.
"Where are those shots coming from?"
Nathan Neal frantically grabbed his radio and barked at his agents.
"Sir, sounds like it's coming from the Korean restaurant!"
"What? Dammit!"
Nathan Neal, Lawson's handler, had assigned agents to surveil the restaurant all day based on Lawson's intel, and had personally arrived to command the night operation.
Neal had already watched the Bonanno capos enter the building earlier.
However, driven by greed, Neal decided to hold off on the raid, hoping to catch an even bigger fish, which was why he hadn't ordered his men to move in yet.
But now that shots were fired inside, waiting any longer would be a massive disaster.
Neal immediately keyed his radio.
"Move in! Now! Go, go, go!"
The FBI's sudden mobilization completely blindsided another group staking out the area: the LAPD.
Brian's handler, Tim Bradford, angrily grabbed his radio and started screaming.
"Fuck! Who authorized that raid?"
Tim Bradford's sole target was the Asian driver of the purple Dodge Viper, so he was absolutely furious that someone else was blowing the operation.
"Boss, that wasn't our guys!"
"If it wasn't us, then who the... Fuck! It's the feds!"
Several heavily armored Chevrolet Suburbans with massive FBI logos suddenly swarmed the area.
(Chevrolet Suburban: The standard-issue vehicle for numerous American federal agencies)
"Dammit! Move in! Go, go! Don't let the FBI hijack this!"
Bradford didn't care what the FBI's angle was. As LAPD brass, he absolutely refused to let the feds steal a bust right from under his nose. If he did, he'd be crucified back at the precinct.
As a result, heavily armed FBI agents and LAPD officers aggressively confronted each other right at the entrance of the Korean restaurant. The two agencies stared each other down in an incredibly tense, awkward standoff.
Neal stormed to the front, glaring at the LAPD officers blocking his agents.
"Who's the commanding officer here? Stand down and stop interfering with a federal operation!"
Bradford stepped forward. He wasn't about to back down now.
"I received intel regarding a kidnapping at this location! The LAPD is here to apprehend the suspects! What's the FBI's excuse?"
Neal frowned. He obviously couldn't reveal that the Bonanno capos were holding a sit-down inside, otherwise the LAPD would try to muscle in on his Mafia investigation.
"We also received an anonymous tip about a kidnapping at this restaurant..."
"What kind of bullshit is that? Since when does someone report a local kidnapping to the FBI instead of dialing 911 for the LAPD?"
Bradford had a point. The FBI typically handled interstate crimes or massive federal offenses. A standard kidnapping absolutely didn't meet their threshold unless the victim was the mayor's daughter.
Bradford knew Neal was feeding him absolute bullshit.
Right then, a blaring chorus of sirens echoed down the street as several more LAPD cruisers aggressively pulled up to the scene.
Both Neal and Bradford looked completely bewildered.
"What are you guys doing here?"
"Sir, dispatch just relayed a 911 call! Active shooter and multiple homicides inside this restaurant!"
Neal instantly realized something was horribly wrong.
"Since when is the LAPD's response time this fast?"