The night sky over the Fontierra estate was a deep, ink-black canvas, absent even the faintest glimmer of stars. The moon hid behind thick clouds, cloaking the sprawling mansion in shadow, as though the heavens themselves refused to witness what was about to unfold. In the dense underbrush surrounding the estate, Karl crouched low, his breath steady, his eyes sharp as they scanned the perimeter. The estate loomed ahead like a fortress, a testament to the wealth and power the Fontierra family had wielded for generations. But tonight, all of that would come crumbling down.
Beside Karl knelt Arjan, his trusted right-hand man and the strategist of the South Central Mafia. Arjan's dark eyes were focused on the towering walls of the mansion, his jaw set in grim determination. Around them, the rest of their crew—seasoned men and women who had fought alongside Karl for years—waited in tense silence. Every one of them knew the stakes. They weren't just here for business; this was personal.
"Karl," Arjan murmured, leaning closer so only Karl could hear. "Perimeter's weak on the south side. Fewer guards. We hit that first, breach the walls, and move straight to Menardo's quarters."
Karl nodded, his expression unreadable in the dark. "No mistakes," he replied quietly, his voice low and lethal. "We go in, we kill Menardo, and we get out. Leonard's gone too far. His father's blood is just the start."
Arjan nodded sharply, and with a quick, silent gesture, he signaled to the others. The group began moving, their steps precise and careful, blending into the darkness like shadows. Karl's heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was clear—focused. This was the night he'd been waiting for. Katrina's death had lit a fire inside him that would not go out until the last of the Fontierra family had paid.
As they approached the outer wall of the estate, Karl glanced at Arjan, who was already preparing the breach. With deft hands, Arjan attached a small device to the stone wall, the faint blue light of its countdown the only visible signal that the operation was underway. Karl crouched lower, his fingers tightening around his rifle as the seconds ticked down.
3… 2… 1.
A low rumble shook the earth beneath their feet as the explosive device shattered a section of the wall. The sound was muffled by the thickness of the stone, but it was enough to stir the guards who patrolled the grounds. Karl didn't wait for them to react. In a single fluid motion, he leaped through the breach, rifle raised, and fired a silenced shot. The nearest guard crumpled to the ground without a sound, his body folding in on itself like a rag doll.
"Go, go," Karl hissed, motioning the others forward.
The crew followed, moving like a well-oiled machine. Ricardo, Arjan, and Akiko led the charge, taking down guards with deadly efficiency. Each shot was precise, each movement calculated. The estate's grounds were vast, but the South Central Mafia had mapped it out meticulously. They knew exactly where to hit and how to move undetected.
As they advanced through the garden, the lights of the mansion came into view. The grand estate, with its high columns and ornate windows, stood like a monument to arrogance and greed. Inside, Menardo Fontierra slept, blissfully unaware that death was creeping closer with every step Karl and his men took.
Arjan moved ahead, leading them toward the side entrance. He pressed his back to the stone wall and glanced around the corner. "Two guards at the door," he whispered. "I'll take the one on the right."
Karl nodded, signaling for Ricardo to take the left. The guards stood idle, unaware of the danger, until two near-silent pops ended their lives in an instant. They slumped to the ground, eyes wide in surprise that they hadn't even had a chance to react.
"Inside," Karl ordered in a low voice. "Quick and quiet."
The group slipped through the door and into the mansion's dimly lit hallways. The marble floors were cool beneath their boots, and the air smelled of polished wood and expensive cigars. It was eerily silent, the only sound being their soft footsteps and the distant ticking of a grandfather clock.
"Menardo's quarters are on the second floor," Arjan whispered, pointing to the grand staircase ahead.
Karl didn't respond. His focus was unshakable. He led the way up the stairs, his eyes scanning every shadow, every door, for signs of movement. This was it. They were close. Too close for mistakes now.
As they reached the top of the stairs, Arjan motioned to a pair of heavy double doors at the end of the hallway. "That's him. Menardo's behind those doors."
Karl's pulse quickened, but his expression remained cold, controlled. He raised his fist, signaling his men to spread out and cover the exits. No one was getting out of here alive—not Menardo, and not any of his guards.
Arjan stepped forward, placing another small charge on the door. He looked to Karl, waiting for the signal.
Karl gave a single nod.
The door exploded inward with a deafening crash, the blast throwing shards of wood and metal across the room. Inside, Menardo Fontierra bolted upright in his bed, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His graying hair was disheveled, his silk robe askew as he scrambled to make sense of the chaos around him.
Before Menardo could react further, Karl and Arjan stormed the room, weapons raised.
"Karl..." Menardo's voice was hoarse, trembling with fear. "What the hell is this?! What do you want?!"
Karl stepped forward, the muzzle of his rifle trained on Menardo's chest. His eyes were ice-cold, devoid of mercy. "You know exactly what this is. You're going to pay for Katrina. For every life your family has destroyed."
Menardo's face paled, his hands trembling as he raised them in a futile gesture of surrender. "Katrina... Leonard's behind all of this. It wasn't me—"
"You're all the same," Karl interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. "You think hiding behind Leonard will save you? You made your choice the moment you backed him."
"Karl, listen!" Menardo's voice rose in desperation. "I can give you Leonard. I can give you Fausto!"
At the mention of Fausto, Karl's gaze sharpened. Fausto was a key player, a shadowy figure who had been working with Leonard from the beginning, pulling strings in the background. Finding Fausto had been one of Karl's main objectives for months.
Karl hesitated, but only for a moment. "Where is he?" he demanded.
Menardo swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his temples. "He's in San Valerio. He's hiding in the old factory district. Leonard set him up there after the deal went south. He—"
A single gunshot cut Menardo off mid-sentence. His body jerked violently, a bloom of red staining his silk robe before he collapsed onto the floor, dead.
Karl lowered his gun, his face emotionless. "I told you this was for Katrina," he muttered, stepping over Menardo's lifeless body. He turned to Arjan, who had watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. "San Valerio. That's where Fausto is."
Arjan nodded, holstering his weapon. "We should move quickly. If Menardo knew where Fausto was, then Leonard's probably already sent men to protect him. The window to get to him is closing."
Karl glanced around the room, then back at the body of Menardo Fontierra, lying in a pool of his own blood. It should have felt like a victory—another piece of Leonard's empire destroyed—but Karl's heart was still heavy with the weight of everything they had lost.
"We leave now," Karl said, his voice flat but resolute. "We finish this."
Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, the rest of his crew following closely behind. Menardo was dead, but the real target was still out there. Leonard, Fausto, and everyone else who had a hand in Katrina's death would pay. Karl wouldn't rest until every last one of them had been brought to justice—or buried.
-----
The dimly lit Innovare boardroom was a stark contrast to the cold night Karl and his crew had just come from. A thick tension hung in the air, as palpable as the darkness outside. The long table in the center of the room gleamed under the low lights, and seated around it were the most powerful figures of the South Central Mafia's leadership. Gustav, a towering figure with sharp features and eyes like ice, sat at the head of the table, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Next to him were other members of the Commission, veterans of decades of war and bloodshed. They had seen empires rise and fall—but tonight was different.
Tonight, it was personal.
Karl entered the room, his face set in a grim expression. He had cleaned up quickly after the Fontierra raid, but the intensity of the night's events still lingered in his stiff shoulders and the hard glint in his eyes. His movements were deliberate, each step bringing him closer to the head of the table where the Commission waited. As he took his seat, Arjan slipped in behind him, standing silently at Karl's right side.
Gustav's piercing gaze met Karl's as the door swung shut, sealing the room from the outside world.
"Karl," Gustav began, his voice smooth but laced with cold authority, "I hear Menardo Fontierra is dead."
"He is," Karl replied, his voice flat, emotionless. "And we have Fausto's location. He's hiding in San Valerio, in the old factory district."
A murmur rippled through the room, the other members of the Commission exchanging glances. They all knew Fausto was the final piece, the elusive figure who had been pulling strings from the shadows. Fausto was the architect of much of the violence that had unfolded in recent months, a key player in Leonard's plans. But finding him was only part of the puzzle.
"And Leonard?" one of the men, an older, grizzled figure named Rinaldi, asked, his gravelly voice cutting through the room.
Karl's gaze darkened. "Leonard's not far. He's protecting Fausto, but once we flush Fausto out, Leonard will show himself."
Gustav leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the edge of the table thoughtfully. "San Valerio isn't exactly a quiet spot. It's heavily fortified, and Leonard won't be there without a small army at his disposal. We'll need every soldier we've got to make this move. This won't be a simple hit."
Karl nodded, fully aware of the scale of the operation. "I've already called in the rest of the crews. They're mobilizing as we speak. I'm not underestimating Leonard, but this ends tonight."
Gustav's eyes flicked toward Arjan, who had remained silent but watchful. "And your second?" he asked. "Is Arjan ready to lead the men if things... go wrong?"
Karl didn't miss the implication. He was walking into a war, and everyone knew it. There were no guarantees. But Karl had been preparing for this moment for a long time, and he trusted Arjan with his life.
"He's more than ready," Karl replied, his voice firm. "If I don't make it out, Arjan takes over. After this war is finished, the South Central Mafia will need a new kind of leader, one who can rebuild without more bloodshed."
Arjan remained still, but his dark eyes flickered with an intensity that mirrored Karl's. He had fought beside Karl for years, and he knew the weight of the responsibility that was about to fall on his shoulders. He would accept it, but only after the dust had settled.
Gustav nodded approvingly, satisfied with Karl's answer. "Very well," he said, his voice steady. "Then we move forward. I'll call the rest of our soldiers and have them prepared for deployment. This war ends tonight—one way or another."
------
The meeting with the Commission ended swiftly, leaving Karl to navigate the final hours before the assault on San Valerio. He moved through the quiet corridors of the Innovare building with a purpose, but a heaviness weighed down his steps. The cold reality of what was about to happen pressed against him from all sides, but there was one thing he needed to do before the storm hit.
He found Riko waiting for him in the small garden just outside the building, her silhouette illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights beyond the wrought iron gate. She stood with her arms crossed, gazing up at the stars that had finally broken through the clouds.
Karl approached her slowly, his steps soft but deliberate. When she heard him, she turned, her face reflecting a quiet strength. She had known this moment was coming, but that didn't make it any easier.
"Karl," Riko said softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Her eyes searched his face, as though memorizing every detail, knowing that the night ahead could take him from her forever. "It's happening, isn't it? The final battle."
Karl nodded, stepping closer. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "It's time. We know where Fausto is. Leonard's not far behind."
Riko's hand tightened around his. "You'll come back to me," she said, her voice firm, though her eyes betrayed her worry. "You have to."
Karl stared down at her, his thumb gently brushing over the back of her hand. He didn't make promises lightly, but he knew that this one, he had to keep. "I will," he said, his voice low and full of conviction. "I'll come back, Riko. Alive. I swear it."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Riko looked away, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "You know... I hate when you do this," she said with a small, sad laugh. "You always make these promises, and I'm left here wondering if—"
Karl cut her off, pulling her into his arms, his embrace tight and warm. "I'm not going to leave you," he whispered against her hair. "Not after everything. After this war is over, it'll be different. We'll have a life—away from all this."
Riko's arms wrapped around him, holding on as though she were afraid to let go. "And the South Central Mafia?" she asked quietly, her voice muffled against his chest.
"I'll pass leadership to Arjan," Karl said. "Once Leonard and Fausto are gone, the violence ends. I'm done. Arjan's ready, and he can rebuild what's left. He'll lead them into something new. But me..." He pulled back slightly, looking down into her eyes. "I'm ready to leave this life behind."
Riko searched his face, and for the first time that night, a glimmer of hope sparked in her eyes. "You mean it? After all this, you'll walk away?"
Karl nodded. "I've lost too much already. Katrina, everything that's happened—it's enough. After tonight, I'll be free."
Riko's fingers brushed against his cheek, her touch soft and full of emotion. "Then you better come back," she said, her voice catching slightly. "Because I won't let you leave me."
Karl smiled faintly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. "I'll come back," he promised again, his voice soft but steady. "And when I do, we'll leave all this behind. Together."
For a long moment, they stood there in the stillness of the night, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of the world pushed to the side—if only for a moment. But as the distant hum of car engines echoed through the streets and the cold night wind swept through the garden, they both knew that the final battle was just hours away.
With a final, lingering kiss, Karl pulled away. His hand slipped from Riko's as he stepped back, his eyes locking onto hers. "I have to go."
"I know," Riko whispered, her voice barely audible.
Karl gave her one last look, then turned and walked away into the darkness, his mind already focused on the fight ahead. He would return—he had to. But first, there was one more battle to win.
And he wouldn't stop until Leonard and Fausto were dead.