Marco

The music was blasting from the speakers, neon lights flashing, making it hard to see ahead. There was a strong stench of cigars and booze that clung to everything.

Antonio’s club was exactly what I expected, with scantily clad men and women swaying their bodies seductively to the music. Some of them lay sprawled on velvet couches, clinging to the potbellied men throwing money around.

When we walked in—me, Francesco, Emilio, and a wall of men behind us—the whole room cleared a path for us, mostly because of Emilio and the assault rifle that hung on his shoulders with a scowl on his face.

Antonio spotted us immediately from...