The villa's grand halls echoed with the sounds of boots pounding against the marble floors as Tyrone's men swept through the corridors like a deadly wave. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and bullet-riddled walls bore witness to the chaos that had descended upon Giovanni's sanctuary. Tyrone followed closely behind, his golden-plated Uzi glinting in the dim light as he calmly strode through the destruction. There was no hesitation in his steps, no fear—only the burning need to finish what he had started.
Oswald, Leon, and the rest of Tyrone's crew moved with tactical precision, clearing room after room, leaving no corner unchecked. Every now and then, they would encounter a remaining guard, someone too stubborn or too loyal to flee. But each one fell swiftly, their bodies left in the growing trail of carnage that Tyrone's men were leaving in their wake. It wasn't just a siege—it was a massacre.
Tyrone's face remained expressionless as he ascended the marble staircase leading to Giovanni's private quarters. The villa's opulence, with its golden chandeliers and oil paintings, meant nothing to him. His mind was locked on one thing: Giovanni. The man responsible for Amon's death, for ripping apart what little remained of Tyrone's family. The same man who had the audacity to mock him earlier over the phone.
As Tyrone reached the top of the stairs, Oswald caught up with him, wiping the sweat from his brow, his RPG still slung over his shoulder.
"We're close, boss," Snake said, his grin wide and eager. "Giovanni's got nowhere left to run."
Tyrone didn't respond. His focus was too intense, his thoughts too consumed by the moment ahead. With each step, the fire inside him grew hotter, threatening to erupt. He could feel Giovanni's presence just beyond those walls, the man who had built an empire on blood and betrayal. Tyrone knew that Giovanni was probably still trying to find a way out, hoping for a miracle, but there was no salvation coming for him tonight.
As Tyrone approached the double doors leading to Giovanni's office, he paused, his hand hovering over the handle. The voices inside were muffled, but he could hear the panic in Giovanni's tone. He was talking to someone, probably barking orders at his men or trying to reach out for help that would never come. Tyrone's lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. This was the moment he had waited for.
He motioned to his men, and Oswald kicked the doors open, splintering the wood as they burst into the room. Giovanni stood behind his large mahogany desk, the phone still in his hand, his face pale with fear. The man who had once held so much power now looked like a cornered rat, his bravado long gone.
"Tyrone," Giovanni breathed, his eyes widening as he saw the armed men flooding into his private sanctuary. "You… you really came all the way to Italy for this?"
Tyrone stepped forward, his steps slow, deliberate. He didn't answer, didn't need to. His presence alone was enough of a response.
Giovanni backed up, stumbling against the bookshelf behind him. "Listen… whatever Isabella told you, it's a lie! She's playing you, man! She wants us at each other's throats while she takes everything for herself!"
Tyrone's eyes narrowed behind his dark shades, his grip tightening around the Uzi. The room seemed to grow smaller as he closed the distance between them. Giovanni's words were nothing but static to him now, irrelevant noise in the face of the vengeance that had been boiling inside him for so long.
"I did what I had to do," Giovanni continued, his voice growing desperate. "Amon killed my nephew! I couldn't just let that slide! But this… this doesn't have to end like this, Tyrone. We can make a deal, alright? I'll give you money, territory, whatever you want!"
Tyrone's jaw clenched as Giovanni's pleading filled the room. The man who had ordered his brother's murder, who had ripped his family apart, was now begging for his life. But Tyrone wasn't here for deals. He wasn't here for money. He was here for blood.
"You took everything from me," Tyrone said finally, his voice low and cold, sending a chill through the room. "My brother, my cousin, my father. And now you want to talk about deals?"
Giovanni shook his head, sweat pouring down his face. "I had no choice! It was business, Tyrone! Just business!"
Tyrone's lips curled into a sneer as he raised the Uzi, aiming it directly at Giovanni. "So is this."
Before Giovanni could react, the room was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire. Tyrone squeezed the trigger, and the golden-plated Uzi roared to life, spitting out a hail of bullets that tore through Giovanni's body. The Sicilian mob boss barely had time to scream before he was thrown back against the bookshelf, blood spraying across the room as his lifeless body crumpled to the floor.
The room fell silent, the only sound the soft crackle of burning wood from the distant fireplace. Tyrone lowered the Uzi, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. The storm of rage that had consumed him for so long had finally been unleashed, and now, in the quiet aftermath, he felt… nothing. No relief, no satisfaction. Just an empty void where the fire had once been.
His men stood around him, watching as Tyrone stared down at Giovanni's lifeless body. They knew better than to say anything. This was Tyrone's moment, and they respected it.
After what felt like an eternity, Tyrone finally turned to Snake and the others.
"Burn it all," he ordered, his voice calm and measured.
Oswald grinned and nodded, already moving to carry out the command. Within moments, Tyrone's men began pouring gasoline across the luxurious villa, setting fire to the walls, the furniture, and the remnants of Giovanni's once-untouchable empire.
As flames consumed the villa, Tyrone walked back out into the cool Sicilian night. The distant roar of the fire behind him cast an eerie glow over the hills as he climbed into the waiting SUV. He didn't look back. Giovanni was dead, and Tyrone had taken his revenge. But deep down, he knew that this was only the beginning.
There were still enemies out there—Isabella Rodrigo, Miguel, and countless others. The criminal world was a web of alliances and betrayals, and Tyrone was now caught in the center of it. His rise to power had come at a cost, but he was prepared to pay whatever price was necessary to ensure that no one would ever stand in his way again.
The convoy roared to life, speeding away from the burning villa as Tyrone's mind turned to the next battle. The storm wasn't over—it was only growing stronger.