Frank Iero sat in his black van, the engine idling softly as he looked out at the imposing mansion of Vic Fuentes. His undermen, a grim-looking bunch, were crowded in the back, their gear clinking softly in the confined space. They were all geared up, weapons checked and rechecked and Frank wore a bulletproof vest, his bare chest underneath revealing a tapestry of tattoos. He chewed gum with a slow rhythm, the only sound breaking the tense silence inside the van.
"Everyone ready?" Frank's voice cut through the quiet and his eyes scanned the faces of his men, noting the readiness in their eyes.
"Yeah, boss," one of the men, a burly figure with a scar running down his cheek, answered as he finished assembling his rifle. The others echoed with nods and muttered affirmations, each man double-checking his equipment.
Frank nodded, satisfied. "Good. Remember, we get in, get what we need, and get out. No mistakes, no unnecessary risks." He paused, his gaze lingering on each of his men. "Vic’s not someone to be underestimated. He’s got eyes and ears everywhere. Stay sharp."
Another underling, a wiry young man with nervous energy, glanced through the small window towards the mansion. "Looks quiet enough. Shouldn’t be a problem." Frank shot him a sharp look. "Don’t get too confident. Quiet is when you should be most alert. We go in fast and efficient. No room for error."
The van grew quiet again as the men absorbed Frank’s words and they knew the risks, understood the stakes. Frank leaned back, his jaw working the gum as he formulated the final steps of their plan in his mind. He took a deep breath, then blew a bubble, the pop breaking the tension like a gunshot.
"Let's do this," Frank said and he opened the van door, the cool night air rushing in. The men followed suit and each man slipping into his designated position. Frank led the way, his eyes locked on the mansion, every sense on high alert. "Move out," Frank commanded.
They moved swiftly and silently across the grounds, using the shadows to their advantage. Frank signaled for them to spread out as they approached the side entrance and the door was locked, but a quick tap on the lockpick by one of the men had it open in seconds.
They slipped inside and suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sound of gunshots. Vic's guards were ready, and bullets flew through the air and Frank didn't hesitate. He aimed and fired, hitting headshots every time. His undermen followed suit, taking down the guards with lethal efficiency.
"Push forward!" Frank shouted over the noise, reloading his weapon and they advanced through the halls, their progress marked by the sound of gunfire and the sight of fallen guards.
They reached the main room, where Vic Fuentes was holed up and Frank kicked the door open, his gun ready. Vic stood behind his desk, a pistol in his hand, his eyes wide.
"It's over, Vic," Frank said, stepping into the room, his gun trained on Vic's head.
Vic aimed his pistol at Frank, but before he could fire, Frank pulled the trigger. The shot was clean, precise, and final. Vic crumpled to the floor, his gun slipping from his grasp.
Frank looked around the room, ensuring there were no more threats. "Search the place," he ordered his men. "Find what we came for." The undermen spread out, ransacking the room quickly but thoroughly and Frank kept his gun ready, eyes scanning for any signs of more guards. One of the men found a safe behind a painting and got to work on cracking it.
A minute later, the safe was open, revealing stacks of cash and important documents. "Got it, boss," the man said, shoving the loot into a bag. "Good," Frank replied, turning back to the door.
As Frank was about to leave, one of his men came in, roughly shoving a young man to his knees.
"Boss, this kid tried to hit me with a bowl," the man said, holding up the evidence.
