Before Don Kulas could fully draw his pistol and fire, Vlad moved with lightning speed. In an instant, he grabbed one of Don Kulas’s men and pulled him upright.
Bang!
The shot rang out, but Vlad had already positioned the unfortunate man as a human shield, the bullet finding its mark in the man’s back instead.
Lucas remained seated, unfazed, as if he had anticipated the entire sequence of events. A smirk played on his lips as he addressed Don Kulas. “So, this is how the legendary and supposedly formidable mafia fights? Relying on surprise attacks?” he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Don Kulas, momentarily stunned by Vlad’s swift action, regained his composure and retorted, “You only survive because of your men, Lucas. Without them, you’re nothing.”
Lucas shrugged nonchalantly, his smirk widening. “Perhaps. But isn’t it the mark of a true leader to inspire such loyalty and skill in his followers? Unlike you, who seems to rely on brute force and desperation.”
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with mockery. “Tell me, Don Kulas, are you ready to meet your end? To beg forgiveness from my father in heaven?” Lucas paused, letting the words sink in before adding with a sly grin, “Though, I doubt heaven is where you’re headed.”
Don Kulas, despite the dire situation, refused to let go of his bravado. He straightened up, a defiant glint in his eyes. “You talk a big game, Lucas. But words are cheap. It takes more than a few lucky moves to hold power in this world.”
Lucas chuckled, leaning back in his chair with an air of relaxed authority. “Lucky moves? Is that what you call it? I prefer to think of it as skill and foresight. But I suppose you wouldn’t know much about that, would you, Kulas?”
Kulas sneered, unwilling to back down. “You think you’re untouchable, sitting there with your smug grin. But every empire falls, Lucas. Yours will be no different.”
Lucas’s smile widened, his eyes never leaving Kulas. “Perhaps. But not today, and certainly not by your hand. You see, Kulas, the difference between us is that I plan for every possibility. You, on the other hand, seem to rely on outdated tactics and empty threats.”
The tension in the room was palpable, the verbal sparring as intense as the physical battle that had preceded it. Both men were locked in a battle of wits, each trying to outmaneuver the other with words as sharp as any blade.
Kulas, still clinging to his pride, shot back, “Enjoy your moment, Lucas. But remember, the higher you climb, the harder you fall.”
Lucas nodded, acknowledging the point with a hint of amusement. “True enough, Kulas. But for now, it seems you’re the one with the ground rushing up to meet you.”
Don Kulas let out a hearty laugh, refusing to concede even as the last of his men lay defeated around him. His laughter echoed through the room, a defiant sound in the face of overwhelming odds.
“You think this is over, Lucas?” Kulas said, his voice filled with a mix of bravado and defiance. “You may have won this round, but the game is far from finished. Men like me don’t just disappear.”
Lucas, still seated with an air of calm authority, raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Kulas’s tenacity. “I admire your spirit, Kulas. It’s almost a shame to see it wasted on futile resistance.”
Kulas smirked, his pride unyielding. “Futile? Perhaps. But remember, Lucas, a cornered beast is the most dangerous. You may have the upper hand now, but don’t underestimate what desperation can drive a man to do.”
Lucas nodded, acknowledging the point with a slight tilt of his head. “True, desperation can be a powerful motivator. But it can also lead to reckless decisions. And in this world, recklessness is often a swift path to ruin.”
As the tension in the room reached its peak, a voice cut through the air from behind. “I was just planning to visit, didn’t expect to find such a commotion here.” Both Don Kulas and Don Ramon turned towards the familiar voice, and a smile crept onto Kulas’s face as he recognized the newcomer.
Emerging from the shadows at the back of the villa was an elderly man, a cigar perched between his lips, one hand casually tucked into his pocket. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, the kind that spoke of old-world mafia elegance-crisp white shirt, dark waistcoat, and a fedora tilted just so. His presence was commanding, and behind him followed a formidable group of men, their mere appearance enough to suggest they were not to be trifled with.
Don Kulas laughed as the leader of the group approached. “Giovanni, your timing is impeccable,” he said, relief evident in his voice, as if he had just found a lifeline.
The man was none other than Don Giovanni Gallo, the head of the Gallo Familia, and the men behind him were his loyal followers, each one exuding an aura of strength and menace.
Don Giovanni surveyed the scene, his eyes taking in the bodies strewn across the floor. He sighed, a calm yet authoritative presence amidst the chaos. “So, what happened here?” he asked, his voice steady and composed.
Don Kulas quickly explained, “We were ambushed, caught off guard, and this is the result,” he said, gesturing towards Lucas. “He’s the one in charge.”
Giovanni nodded, his gaze shifting to Lucas, who remained seated, his expression unreadable. Without a word, Don Giovanni raised his hand, signaling his men to prepare for action.
Don Giovanni’s men moved into position. The Gallo Familia, known for their precision and discipline, advanced with a calculated grace, their movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance. Each man knew his role, their eyes locked onto Lucas’s men, who quickly adjusted their stance, ready to defend their leader.
The clash was immediate and intense. The sound of fists meeting flesh. The villa became a battleground, each side pushing and pulling, neither willing to give an inch. The Gallo men, with their superior numbers and strategic approach, seemed to have the upper hand, their formation tight and unyielding.
Don Kulas watched the unfolding chaos with a sense of satisfaction, a grin spreading across his face. He leaned slightly towards Lucas, his voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like Giovanni’s men are giving yours a run for their money, Lucas. How does it feel to be outmatched?”
Lucas, still seated and composed, turned his gaze to Kulas, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “Outmatched? Perhaps. But tell me, Kulas, how many more reinforcements will you need before you feel secure? Or is this just another desperate attempt to cling to power?”
The battle raged on, each side trading blows with relentless determination. Despite the initial advantage, it became clear that Lucas’s men were not to be underestimated. Their resilience and adaptability began to show, countering the Gallo Familia’s tactics with surprising effectiveness.
Don Giovanni, observing the fight, remained calm, his eyes assessing every move. He knew the strength of his men, but he also recognized the skill of Lucas’s forces. The balance of power shifted back and forth, each side gaining and losing ground in a deadly dance of strategy and strength.
Amidst the chaos, Don Kulas’s confidence wavered slightly, but he quickly masked it with bravado. “Enjoy your moment, Lucas. But remember, every empire has its fall.”