Act VII – Chapter 21 "Christina"
Las Vegas. Luxury hotel. Reception lobby.
Don Javier's henchmen were gearing up for battle. Assault rifles, clacking magazines, improvised barricades behind marble counters. What officially passed for the hotel's "security" armed themselves and fired back, submachine guns spitting lead against the attacks from outside.
Outside, chaos reigned.
Civilians screaming, running in zigzags, trampled in the panic. Sirens in the distance, flashing lights drowned in smoke. The rival mafias — New York and Chicago — weren't holding back. Rocket launchers, heavy machine guns mounted on pickups. Facades exploded, storefronts shattered, cars gutted. Total war, right in the street, with no regard for collateral damage.
Don Javier, limping slightly, leaned against a pillar. A shard of glass had sliced his leg — bloody, but superficial. He barely grimaced.
"Nothing serious," he growled.
Leo, crouched behind the reception desk, risked a glance outside.
Bodies on the ground. Innocent civilians caught in the crossfire. A woman, purse still on her shoulder, collapsed in a red puddle. A kid, motionless near a gutted fountain.
It reminded him of Los Angeles. Corpses in the streets. The screams. The blood.
Leo jerked back, breathing ragged, hands shaking. Panic attack. This is my fault. The seven families. I pushed too far. These deaths…
Emilio placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to the present.
"Hey. You okay? This really isn't the time to pass out, son."
Leo took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs.
"Yeah… I'm good."
Don Javier watched him for a moment, a bullet whistling a few meters away. Then, teasing:
"You were never cut out for this world, huh."
A sad smile. Then, serious:
"Follow me."
"Where?"
"We're gonna handle this the old-fashioned way, kid."
Bullets kept raining. Outside, an explosion shook the hotel.
But Emilio pressed on, barely limping, as if the war was just an annoying formality.
He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out his phone, eyes never leaving the emergency stairwell where gunfire still cracked.
"Gregorio," he said.
A few seconds of static, then a breathless voice answered amid the noise.
"Go ahead, boss."
"Time to take Christina out for a spin."
Silence, then a short, almost incredulous laugh.
"You're doing it again?"
Emilio cracked a smile.
"Yes, old friend."
"On my way."
The call cut off.
Gregorio, stationed several floors up, released one of his men with a sharp gesture.
"Keep up the artillery! I'm heading down!"
He crossed the hallway under impacts, not running but not dawdling — the walk of men who've seen too many wars to be impressed by another.
Emilio placed his palm on a wall panel. A discreet light glowed under his fingers, then a deep click echoed through the hotel's structure. The wall slid aside, revealing a secure passage.
Leo followed close, a bit disoriented by what he was seeing.
The corridor led to a vast underground garage, practically an army cache. Weapon racks, equipment crates, tactical vests, munitions, magazines aligned with near-obsessive care.
In the center, under a gray tarp stretched like a secret, rested a metal monster.
"What are we doing here?" Leo asked, still panting.
Emilio gave a small smirk.
"You ever see James Bond, kid? I've always loved James Bond."
He absentmindedly reloaded a magazine, then pointed to the tarp.
"But this? This ain't the movies."
He yanked the tarp off with a sharp tug.
A 1984 Ford Bronco 4x4, massive, broad-shouldered, emerged into the light. Reinforced bodywork, armored bumpers, huge off-road tires, thickened windows, roof hatch turret. The machine looked built to plow through a warzone without asking permission.
"Meet Christina, son," Emilio said with almost tender pride. "V8 5.8 liters, reinforced transmission, custom armor plating, and enough firepower to make any overzealous terrorist shake in his boots."
Gregorio, behind them, let out a laugh seeing the beast.
"You haven't brought her out since you crushed Marcel's gang."
"Exactly," Emilio replied with a smile. "She's my little gem. She's got mileage, sure… but trust me, Leo, she's never let me down."
His gaze slid to the young man, then back to the vehicle.
"Unlike your mother."
Gregorio let out an amused puff, complicit. An old joke between men who've known each other long enough.
The garage shook under a fresh salvo of explosions far above. The hotel's racket sounded like a storm muffled by meters of concrete.
Emilio grabbed the keys and held them out to Leo.
"You won't get out of this without killing, kid. Not today — we're not in some damn comic book. So for once, let the old guys handle the dirty work."
He held the keys suspended between them for a moment.
Leo looked at them without taking them right away.
The way Emilio stood there, Gregorio at his side, in this hidden garage like a war lair. They looked like men who'd crossed too many years, too many enemies, too many losses, and still stood straight facing each other.
Bosses?
Criminals?
No, just.
Survivors.
Emilio spun the keys slightly between his fingers.
"I know how important respecting your code is to you…" he said lower. "So take these. Make me proud."
He extended his hand again.
This time, Leo took the keys.
The cold metal in his palm felt strangely heavy.
Emilio placed a brief, solid hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, kid."
Gregorio barely nodded, discreet smile at the corner of his lips.
"Don't do anything stupid," he added simply.
Leo managed a smile, more fragile than the others.
Outside, the war raged on.
Leo turned the key.
AC/DC music blasted instantly from hidden dashboard speakers, saturating the cabin with brutal energy. He reached to turn it off, but Emilio grabbed his wrist with a smirk.
"No, my friend. Let it ride."
He cranked the volume.
The 4x4 lurched forward and sank into the secret elevator with a deep rumble. At the same moment above them, the defensive line began to crack.
The security men were falling one by one, overwhelmed by the assault. Shouts, orders, gunfire blended into a racket muffled by concrete walls.
Then came the sharp sound of the elevator doors opening.
The attackers raised their weapons instantly.
They only had time to see a metal monster surge into the light.
The 4x4 burst into the lobby, Emilio in the back, roof open, heavy machine gun mounted above him. The burst that followed cut short the momentum of the first men at the entrance. The metal spat its fury, mowing down those who'd crossed the threshold.
"GO!" Emilio shouted.
Leo floored the accelerator.
Bullets struck the armor with sharp clangs, leaving behind light dents, sparks, scratches. The vehicle took it without flinching.
"You'll pay for this with your blood," Emilio muttered through gritted teeth.
He let out a frank laugh, as if someone had just handed him a perfect evening.
The 4x4 blasted out of the hotel, smashing through the lobby's glass doors. A curtain of glass exploded around them. Leo felt the car skid, then peel out in a clean, controlled drift — almost elegant despite the violence.
Gregorio leaned out the rear window, pulled a rocket launcher from a side compartment, shouldered it with old-pro ease, then fired.
The explosion tore through the enemy formation.
Black cars swerved, some spun out, others stopped dead in clouds of smoke and debris. The chase was on for real, broad daylight, right through Las Vegas.
Dozens of dark vehicles gave chase.
Emilio, still in the back, laughed at the top of his lungs while hosing down the pursuers.
"Not bad for a first family road trip, son!"
Leo, focused on the road, managed a smile despite the tension.
"You're completely nuts, old man."
"It's what makes me charming," Emilio replied without missing a beat.
Police sirens soon joined the chaos. Law enforcement chased both the attackers and the speeding convoy, and Leo felt the noose tightening.
His gaze flicked between the road, rearview mirrors, and horizon as gunfire still cracked behind them.
"How the hell are we gonna explain this mess?" he asked, voice tight.
Gregorio, reloading while Emilio kept eyes on the pursuers, answered calmly:
"We won't justify much given the damage. But we'll claim self-defense against a situation of this magnitude."
Leo shot him a quick glance.
"That'll work?"
Gregorio gave a small, almost paternal smile.
"Kid… everything works as long as the story's good enough, and the wallet's deep enough."
Emilio burst out laughing.
"Exactly right, son. There's only one thing we worship in Las Vegas…"
He reloaded, eyes gleaming, as if this whole apocalypse was just an extension of his personal show.
"Romance and money."
A fresh shot hit the bodywork. Leo gripped the wheel tighter. The 4x4 leaped across the asphalt, pursued by smoke, sirens, and the black cars dogging their tail.
And amid the racket, Emilio kept laughing like a king on the edge of a world in flames.