Chasing Stars in Hollywood

If he had the choice, Antonio Danielli would never have volunteered for a task under the guise of a vacation to the USA. It was an absolute nightmare.

After working late with Horace Stefano until 11 p.m., Antonio returned home to find a middle-aged man with three subordinates sitting in his living room. His legs almost gave way instinctively.

The middle-aged man had a somewhat long, sharp face, black hair, blue eyes, and a hooked nose, subtly hinting at Slavic ancestry. His slightly long hair and unshaven face gave him a somewhat sleazy, unkempt appearance, resembling a middle-aged househusband who had achieved nothing.

However, it was this man who had, half a month ago, forced Antonio's head under a press that had just crushed a pig's head to a pulp.

With his head buried in the blood-soaked remains and the press threatening to smash it like a watermelon with just a bit more force, all notions of loyalty and the code of silence seemed irrelevant, leaving only the most basic survival instinct.

The man had then calmly interrogated him for over an hour with Antonio's head trapped under the press.

Antonio spilled everything, everything he knew.

When his head was finally released, Antonio realized he had no way back. The two subordinates he had taken to the USA felt the same. Over the past month, Antonio wondered how many others these fiends had turned. At the very least, the entire Danielli family was now compromised.

"You…"

Standing stiffly at the door, Antonio managed to say a word, then instinctively glanced around, suddenly feeling a chill.

His wife and three children were nowhere to be seen.

The middle-aged man saw through his thoughts and, in that chillingly calm tone Antonio had heard many times, said, "They are in the bedroom, asleep. Whether they wake up depends on your performance tonight."

Antonio realized that something was finally about to go down.

He felt his lips dry out.

Although he had been tormented by fear of his betrayal being discovered over the past month, Antonio also understood that this was an opportunity, a chance to take over the Stefano family's power. If he succeeded, he would leap from a common 'Ndrangheta lieutenant to a godfather-level figure.

Thinking this, a strange excitement mixed with his fear, creating a complex feeling.

Clenching his fists to stop his fingers from trembling, Antonio remembered tonight's task and looked back at the middle-aged man, reminding him, "Giorgio is already aware of your presence. He discussed countermeasures today."

The man simply nodded, "We know."

Antonio realized his reminder was redundant.

Over the past month, not even Horace Stefano's sleep talk would have escaped these people's surveillance.

Antonio had personally installed the bugs in his boss's house.

Additionally, at the middle-aged man's request, Antonio had revealed all he knew about the Stefano family members' residences, assisted in mapping out Horace Stefano's mansion's layout, and secretly installed bugs and cameras in many key 'Ndrangheta locations. He also helped outline the complex web of relationships within the 'Ndrangheta, identifying those friendly to the Stefano family, those with unresolved vendettas, and those who might avenge the Stefano family if something happened, among other details.

Antonio also realized that, given these people's ruthless methods, there were likely others within the 'Ndrangheta doing similar things over the past month.

Standing there for two or three minutes, the middle-aged man finally motioned for him to sit down.

The living room lights were off.

Only the television was on, the sound low and the light flickering.

In the dim light, Antonio noticed the middle-aged man holding a silenced pistol, which looked familiar. Approaching, he recognized it as his own, usually kept in his bedroom's bedside table.

He wanted to check on his family but couldn't muster the courage.

Life or death would be decided tonight.

If he couldn't survive, another night wouldn't matter.

Being in this line of work, Antonio had somewhat accepted the inevitability of death.

He sat opposite the middle-aged man, glancing at the other three, who were silent and either watching TV or in a daze. He had seen them before but still didn't know their names.

The night seemed interminable.

Once Antonio sat down, the room fell into silence, only the TV's low sound breaking it, his mind racing with thoughts.

Since tonight would be the end, shouldn't preparations be made?

The four men, who could instill such fear in an experienced mobster like him, were likely the main operatives.

His mind drifted to how it all began.

He had been sent to the USA to warn Sofia Vici, CEO of Melisandre, against acquiring Versace.

This should have been a routine task, one they often did with good results.

But this time, it had gone disastrously wrong.

Over the past month, Antonio realized that it was Sofia Vici's powerful backer, the young billionaire Simon Westeros, who was behind it. As a rapidly rising legend, Simon's stories were well known even in Italy.

Antonio hadn't imagined that Simon would be so untouchable and ruthless, far surpassing the Mafia.

They had only sent a few bullets to his lover's house, hoping for a compromise.

Simon Westeros had responded decisively.

Now, reviewing everything that had happened, Antonio believed he might survive, at least with a good chance.

If the Stefano family was wiped out, it would be a massive upheaval. The Stefano family's directly affiliated gang members in Calabria numbered nearly two hundred, and the 'Ndrangheta's six families had over three thousand members.

If no one took over the mess, it would be a disaster.

Antonio knew that the other families would quickly fill the void left by the Stefanos. However, if they knew the truth, they might seek revenge.

Although, on second thought, that might not be likely.

If Antonio himself knew the full story, he wouldn't be foolish enough to retaliate against Simon Westeros, knowing that it could mean his entire family being wiped out in their sleep.

Amid these chaotic thoughts, the time unknowingly reached 1 a.m.

Antonio cautiously glanced at the four men, having no intention of making a desperate move, but wanting to remind them of something.

For example, they should watch out for Horace's two pit bulls, very alert and fierce, having killed a man before.

For example, the youngest Stefano, Demitri, was timid and often changed rooms within the same house to sleep.

For example, the fifth Stefano brother, Orazio, whose wife was a niece of the Tegano family, a marriage alliance against the Condiro families, should be handled carefully to avoid provoking the Teganos.

But he knew he had already told the middle-aged man all this, multiple times.

There was no need to remind them again.

In his torment, Antonio couldn't help but ask, "Shouldn't we be doing something?"

The middle-aged man took his eyes off the TV screen, glanced at him, and said only one word, "Wait."

Then he turned back to the TV.

Antonio had no choice but to turn towards the TV as well, though the late-night show couldn't hold his interest. To relax, he wondered if the others could even understand it.

The middle-aged man clearly did, as his Italian, though accented, was fluent enough to suggest many years of living in Italy.

The other three probably understood some, but their conversations were in English.

This left Antonio in the dark, as he didn't know their names. From their demeanor, he suspected they were professional operatives, possibly from KGB, Stasi, MI6, Mossad, or CIA... Italy lacked such an organization, unfortunately.

After another long silence, sudden, faint gunfire rang out. Antonio immediately recognized the sound of a Beretta 160 automatic rifle, a standard weapon for the Italian military since 1990. During the push for gun control, Horace had obtained a batch for the gang, though not through legal channels.

These thoughts flashed through his mind, followed by a dull explosion that made Antonio jump.

A grenade?

He realized it wasn't just one explosion but at least two grenades going off simultaneously.

The Mafia often used bombs, but grenades were less common. The 1992 bomb that killed anti-Mafia judge Giovanni Falcone had been mined explosives, as post-1991 gun laws made military-grade arms hard to come by.

The gunfire and explosions were from Horace Stefano's mansion, two blocks away.

The room went dark as the TV turned off.

A power outage.

Coincidence?

Antonio glanced at the four men. Seeing no movement, he tried to remain calm.

In the Stefano mansion, several hundred meters away.

Two minutes earlier, the assault team had used a drone to poison the two vigilant pit bulls and disable the alarm system. They scaled the walls from a blind spot, swiftly eliminating the four guards inside.

With Horace and his wife in the second-floor bedroom, the team set up a ladder to enter through the balcony.

Unexpectedly, a team member was shot as he poked his head over the railing, falling from the ladder.

Lead operative Vasily Danilov hadn't expected complications at the final step.

Their homework had identified over twenty rooms in the mansion. With just four assault team members, plus the four-person intel team outside, a hide-and-seek game would be risky.

Without hesitation, Danilov signaled the other two members, each throwing a grenade into the room.

Timed perfectly, the grenades exploded upon entry.

Almost indistinguishable in quick succession.

Without waiting to check the results, Danilov moved the ladder to the side of the balcony and swiftly climbed up himself.

This time, it proved the right decision.

Horace and his wife hadn't fled but were hiding behind the

 bed, waiting for the next attack, with predictable results.

Danilov's mission prioritized killing Horace Stefano. If things went south, killing him meant the mission was a success.

Now, with the grenades' blast, they had three minutes to evacuate as planned.

Intel suggested ten people in the mansion tonight: four guards and the Stefano couple were dead, leaving the two sons and two maids.

The initial plan was to kill the adults and spare the children.

However, Danilov's earpiece crackled with new orders: "Plan changed. Kill on sight. Repeat, plan changed. Kill on sight."

Acknowledging, Danilov moved out, kicking open another familiar bedroom door.

The bed was empty.

Danilov activated his night-vision thermal mode.

Though not as exaggerated as in movies, at close range, nothing could hide.

A red shape glowed in the closet, and Danilov fired three silenced shots, then moved to the next room.

Within a minute, the house was silent, save for one woman's scream, then total quiet.

Unnoticed, power to the entire block had been cut, waking many to find both electricity and phone lines down, keeping them homebound and cautious.

Three minutes.

The assault team and intel group withdrew, taking all bodies and one soldier with a shoulder wound.

It was 2:15 a.m. on August 23rd.

A turbulent night.

Similar operations were unfolding across the city almost simultaneously.

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