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take down the leadership, in one blow, then we
cripple organized crime nationally. And maybe keep Naples that much farther
from falling into anarchy.”
    “Falling into anarchy?” said Cristian sotto voce to Bruno.
“Naples is always in anarchy.” While Bruno considered whether Cristian
was being serious or just trying to be an ass, Costa’s eyes narrowed and he
looked straight at Cristian.
    “You! Di Cassio, isn’t it? Is there a problem?”
    “No, sir!” replied Cristian in his best military voice.
    “Good. Keep it that way.”
    Bruno felt Costa had answered his unspoken question about
the reasons underlying these raids. But judging by how deep into the pool of
manpower they dove to get enough people for the raids, they’d be lucky if none
of them got hurt.
    The van came to a halt.  Costa opened the doors and the
squad tumbled out, two at a time.
    “We’ve parked two blocks away. We’re on foot the rest of the
way, so with luck, we won’t be spotted.”
    As they assembled near the back of the van, the team began
to check and double check their main weapons and sidearms.
    Veri leaned over to Cristian and swore under his breath.
“Cap’e cazzo! Can you not control your mouth even for a second?” Cristian
didn’t say anything, but from the look in his eyes, Bruno knew that under the
mask, Cristian sported a shit-eating grin.
    Bruno looked around. The dingy apartment buildings and
uneven cobblestone streets meant they were in the heart of the Quartieri. Bruno
glanced at his watch. The luminous analog display showed 01:02, well past the
newly-imposed nationwide curfew of 22:00 hours. Anyone out and about now risked
arrest. Bruno looked up and drank in the night air. Silence blanketed the
warren of narrow cobblestone streets. The only noise rippling in the night was
the distant sound of what to Bruno sounded like gunshots. Things were indeed
falling apart.
    After a final review of the schematics and discussion of
tactics, the team began to quickstep as quietly as they could toward the
entrance to the apartment building. The streetlights cast pools of light here
and there, illuminating the mist in the chill night air.
    Bruno went over the plan again in his head as they
approached the entrance. Third floor, Interno 3A, down the hall on the right.
He could feel adrenaline surge as the group paused just before the entrance, in
a line with backs against the wall of the low, stone building.
    Cristian and Veri were together, but Bruno’s assigned
partner was a fresh Academy grad, a kid named Gianluca. Bruno glanced to his
left to check on his partner. Gianluca’s hands trembled slightly as he checked
his weapon one last time. Bruno reached over and touched him on the arm. “Hey,”
whispered Bruno, “it’s all right. Stay right behind me and follow my lead.”
    Gianluca nodded. “Right. Don’t worry, chief. I’ve got your
back.” Bruno imagined that under his mask, the kid smiled a pale half-smile.
    Bruno patted him on the shoulder. “I know you’ve got my back—just don’t shoot me in the back, okay?” Bruno joked. But the
teasing and confident gesture belied Bruno’s true thoughts: Old men and boys.
Already that’s all we’ve got left.
    Finally, each man gave the ready signal and they slipped
into the building entrance; on cat feet they walked up the flights of stairs.
The light in the stairwell flickered on and off, the old fluorescent lighting
in desperate need of an upgrade. The two lead team members stopped as they
arrived at the landing. The door to Interno 3A lay just to the right of the
stairs. The two lead officers stopped, and they readied their battering ram.
The team dotted the stairs, winding partly down almost to the floor below, as
there was not enough room on the landing for them to fit single file. Bruno and
Gianluca stood almost at the head of the pack. From where he stood, Bruno could
hear men shouting or arguing over the buzz of a television. They’re awake, he
thought, and