Lion and Tiger, two of Lucas’s most formidable fighters, moved with the fluidity of seasoned warriors. Lion, with his powerful build, charged forward, delivering crushing blows to the Gallo men, his fists a blur of motion. Tiger, agile and swift, danced around his opponents, striking with lethal accuracy, his kicks and punches landing with devastating effect.
Jose and Vlad joined the fray, their presence adding a new layer of complexity to the battle. Jose, known for his strategic mind, directed his attacks with calculated precision, exploiting every weakness he could find. Vlad, with his imposing stature, waded into the fight like a force of nature, his sheer strength overwhelming those who dared to face him.
Despite their prowess, the Gallo Familia held their ground, their discipline and numbers providing a formidable challenge. The clash was fierce, each side giving as good as they got. Lucas’s men, though skilled, found themselves matched at every turn, their attacks met with equal force.
Don Kulas watched with growing satisfaction, his laughter echoing through the villa as he saw Lucas’s men being pushed back. “Looks like your luck’s run out, Lucas!” he taunted, his voice filled with glee. “Your men are falling like dominoes!”
Don Giovanni, standing calmly amidst the chaos, observed the scene with a detached interest, his expression unreadable. He seemed content to let the battle play out, confident in the abilities of his men.
As the fight continued, the tide began to turn. One by one, Lucas’s men started to fall. Lion and Tiger, despite their best efforts, were eventually overwhelmed, their bodies hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Jose and Vlad, too, succumbed to the relentless assault, their strength finally giving way.
Lucas’s confident demeanor shifted, replaced by a look of shock and disbelief. He watched as One Eye, his last remaining fighter, charged into the fray, only to be swiftly taken down. The realization of his defeat hit him hard, and he stood abruptly, his voice filled with incredulity. “No, this can’t be happening!”
Don Kulas seized the moment, his taunts cutting through the air like a knife. “Looks like you’re all alone now, Lucas. How does it feel to be on the losing side?”
Lucas’s bravado crumbled, replaced by a palpable fear. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out, his voice faltering as he tried to respond. “I… I didn’t expect this…”
The conversation continued, Don Kulas reveling in his apparent victory, his words dripping with arrogance. “You thought you could take us on, Lucas? You were always in over your head.”
Don Kulas leaned back, savoring the moment, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “You really thought you could challenge me, Lucas? It’s almost amusing. The Genovese name used to mean something, but now it seems even the last of their bloodline is about to be snuffed out.” He chuckled, the sound echoing through the room like a sinister melody.
Lucas, standing amidst the wreckage of his plans, felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine. His bravado had vanished, replaced by a creeping dread that threatened to consume him. He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “D-Don Kulas, you don’t have to do this. We can find a way to-”
But Don Kulas cut him off, waving a dismissive hand. “Find a way? Oh, Lucas, you’re still clinging to hope. Power is not something you negotiate for; it’s something you seize. And you, my dear Lucas, have failed spectacularly at that.”
Lucas’s mind raced, searching for any angle, any possibility that might turn the tide. But the reality was inescapable, and the fear gnawed at him, making his knees weak. “Please, Don Kulas, we can make a deal. I can offer you-”
“Offer me what?” Kulas interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain. “You have nothing left to offer. And now you stand here, begging for mercy. It’s pathetic.”
The words hit Lucas like a physical blow, each one stripping away the last vestiges of his confidence. He felt the room closing in around him, the weight of his failure pressing down like a vice. “I… I didn’t mean for it to end like this,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Don Kulas laughed, a deep, mocking sound that filled the space between them. “End like this? Lucas, this is just the beginning. With you out of the way, I will be the undisputed king of Rome. Your downfall is just a stepping stone to my greatness.”
Lucas’s fear was palpable now, his mind a whirlwind of desperation and regret. He had underestimated Kulas, and now he was paying the price. “Kulas, please, there must be something-”
But Kulas was relentless, his arrogance unyielding. “Something? The only thing left for you, Lucas, is to accept your fate. You played the game and lost. Now, watch as I take everything you ever dreamed of.”
Don Kulas took a step forward, his presence looming over Lucas like a dark shadow. Lucas stood there, head bowed, the weight of his defeat pressing heavily upon him. The room was silent, save for the distant echoes of the earlier battle, a stark reminder of the power shift that had just occurred.
With a flourish, Kulas drew his pistol, the metallic click echoing ominously in the stillness. He aimed it squarely at Lucas, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Any last words?” he asked, his voice a mixture of mockery and finality.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the tension, unexpected and dripping with disdain. “Kulas, did you really think this is how it would end? You, the king of Rome? What a joke. King of Rome, my ass.”
Kulas’s eyes widened in shock, the words catching him off guard. He turned, searching for the source of the voice, his confidence momentarily shaken. But what he saw next was even more unsettling.
Lucas, who had seemed so defeated just moments before, now wore a chilling smile, a grin that spoke of secrets and plans yet to be revealed. Don Kulas, narrowed his eyes at Lucas, trying to decipher the meaning behind that unsettling smile. “What do you mean, Lucas? What’s going on?” he demanded, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and irritation.
Lucas remained silent, his expression inscrutable, as if savoring the moment.
Suddenly, a sharp “clack” echoed from behind Kulas, the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. He froze, the cold realization washing over him as he felt the chilling press of metal against the back of his head.