Consequences

The sun was setting on the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and purple. Vincent and his group had gathered in an abandoned garage that they had converted into their temporary base. Upon entering, the smell of metal and gasoline filled the air. In the center of the space, the stolen weapons were laid out on an improvised table. The thrill of the action still buzzed in their veins, but the reality of imminent danger loomed over them like a gray cloud.

"Do you see this?" Vincent picked up a nine-millimeter pistol, weighing it in his hand and examining its heft. "This is more than we expected. If we play this right, we can establish a good sales network."

Liam, his right-hand man, leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the weapons. "What if the police find these guns before we can sell them? We can't afford a misstep right now."

"I know," Vincent replied, feeling the pressure starting to build. "But we have to act fast. If we take too long, someone else will beat us to it. This isn't just a heist; it's our chance to grow."

Maya, the infiltration expert, was observing the surroundings closely. "We should consider how to move. We need a clear escape plan in case things go sideways."

"Exactly," added Jared, the muscle of the group, flexing his arms. "If we're going to do this, we need to be ready for anything. We can't let them catch us."

While they discussed, Nina, the tech specialist, was seated in front of a laptop, reviewing the security footage of the stolen truck. "There are no cameras in the area where we hit it, but we need to stay alert. Let's make sure no one follows us."

Vincent turned to her, grateful for her quick thinking. "Perfect. That gives us a breather. But we need a buyer for these guns. If we play this right, we can make a big leap in this business."

After a tense evaluation, they decided to contact an acquaintance in the black market. This person was an old connection of Liam's, someone who had been in the business for years and had a reputation for being shrewd and dangerous. Vincent pulled out his phone, his heart pounding.

"How about we meet at the old bar on the corner?" Liam suggested, crossing his arms. "It's a neutral spot."

Vincent nodded, feeling it was the best option. "Alright. Let's meet there in an hour. And everyone, please keep your mouths shut. We can't risk anyone else finding out about this."

When they arrived at the bar, a rundown building with flickering lights and a gloomy atmosphere, the group sat at a table in the back. The music was a mix of classic rock and the murmur of other patrons' conversations. As they waited for the buyer, Vincent felt a blend of nervousness and anticipation.

"Do you think he'll betray us?" Jared asked, looking nervously toward the entrance.

"Only if he sees us as a threat," Vincent replied, his voice steady. "Remember, we're here to do business, not to fight. If things get violent, we walk."

After a few minutes, the buyer arrived. He was an average-built man with a dark beard and a cold gaze. He introduced himself as Marco and took a seat without a word.

"Do you have the guns?" he asked directly, his tone grave.

Vincent nodded and began to describe what they had. "We hit a truck carrying a shipment of different types of pistols. All in excellent condition. Are you interested?"

Marco raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I can trust you?"

"Because we don't want trouble," Vincent replied, his voice firm. "This is just business. You don't want to attract attention, and we don't want to end up in jail."

Marco leaned forward, studying Vincent. "I like your attitude. Let's make a deal, but I need to see the weapons first."

Vincent and his group exchanged glances, feeling the weight of the moment. They knew that trust was key, but so was security. They agreed to take the buyer to their base to show him the loot.

They returned to the base, and the atmosphere was tense. Vincent knew that the deeper he got into this world, the harder it would be to keep the peace at home. That night, upon arriving home, dinner was served. Michael Da Santa, his father, sat at the table, discussing with Amanda the importance of keeping the family united.

"If you don't talk to the boys, you'll never know what they're up to," Amanda said, looking at him with concern.

"I know, but they need to learn to fend for themselves," Michael replied, frowning. "I can't always be there to protect them."

Vincent entered the kitchen, feeling every gaze on him. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Just talking about how to manage the family," Amanda said, forcing a smile. "How was your day, honey?"

"Good," Vincent quickly replied, avoiding going into detail. "Just hung out for a bit with the guys."

"With the same friends as always?" Michael asked, his voice taking on a warning tone.

"Yeah, Dad," Vincent said, feeling the weight of his father's gaze. He sat down at the table, and Tracey entered just then, her typical disdainful expression plastered on her face.

"Why don't you tell me you're talking about me? I have important things to do too," Tracey said, crossing her arms.

"Like what? Posting selfies on social media?" Michael retorted, a bit sarcastic.

"It's my life, Dad," Tracey shot back, her expression defiant. "Sometimes I think you guys don't understand anything about me."

Vincent felt trapped in the middle of the argument. The tension between his sister and father was palpable. He tried to change the subject, knowing that the closer he got to his illicit activities, the more complicated the family dynamics would become.

"How about we talk about that movie we saw the other day?" Vincent suggested, trying to steer the conversation. But the spark of discussion had already been ignited, and the atmosphere became tense once more.

As the night wore on, Vincent realized that family life wasn't as simple as a dinner together.