Tommy stood by the cracked window of *The Old Irish*, looking out into the streets of Sydney. The city was alive with its usual nighttime energy—cars rolling by, distant voices rising and falling, and the hum of life carrying on as if the chaos beneath the surface didn't exist. But for Tommy, everything felt different. The city didn't feel like his anymore. Not like it used to.
Richie sat at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, his eyes tired but watchful. He hadn't said much since the raid on Sergei's mansion had gone sideways. None of them had. The silence weighed heavily in the room, filling the space between them with unspoken tension.
"Feels like we're bleeding out slow," Richie muttered after a while, breaking the quiet. "Losing ground every day, and we're not even sure who we're fighting anymore."
Tommy didn't respond at first. He was too busy thinking about the mansion raid—the way it had all crumbled so quickly. Sergei, that smug Russian bastard, had slipped through their fingers just when Tommy thought they had him. And The Wolf... it was like his presence hung over everything, a shadow darker than the night outside.
Tommy clenched his jaw. "We've survived worse."
Richie glanced over, skepticism written across his face. "Have we? This isn't some turf war with the McCarthy boys or a run-in with the cops. This is something else. The Wolf's like smoke. Every time we think we've got him cornered, he disappears."
"I know," Tommy said quietly. He looked at the whiskey bottle in his hand, then set it down on the windowsill. "But we can't keep fighting like this—scrambling from one place to another, trying to hold on to scraps of what's left. We need to regroup. Get smart. We've been too reactive."
Richie took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on the worn bar counter. "What're you thinking?"
Tommy walked over to the map pinned to the wall. It was littered with red markers, denoting the places they'd lost, the businesses and men who had either defected or disappeared altogether. The Wolf's influence was spreading fast, and it was squeezing them into a corner. But Tommy noticed something as he studied the map—something he hadn't really thought about before. The areas The Wolf had taken were precise, strategic. He wasn't trying to grab everything at once. He was creating a corridor, a flow of power and resources moving through the heart of the city.
"Look at this," Tommy said, pointing to the eastern side of Sydney. "The Wolf's not just taking whatever he can get. He's moving in a line, controlling specific points. He's setting up a system."
Richie stood up and joined Tommy at the map, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, but what does that mean? What's he after?"
Tommy traced his finger along the map, connecting the dots. "This isn't about territory, not in the usual sense. He's locking down supply routes. Drugs, guns, maybe even more than that. He's building something bigger, something that runs beneath the surface of everything we know."
Richie nodded slowly. "Alright. So, how do we use that?"
Tommy exhaled, deep in thought. "We need to hit him where it hurts most—his infrastructure. Forget about going after his men or the small operations. We need to cripple his flow of goods, choke his lifeline. If we can cut off his money and his supplies, he'll have no choice but to show his face."
Richie scratched his chin. "But that'll take time. And we don't have the manpower to hold down the city and hit him that hard at the same time."
"Then we pull back," Tommy said, making a decision. "We consolidate our forces. Stop spreading ourselves thin trying to hold on to every bit of territory. Focus on the areas we know we can control. And while we do that, we hit The Wolf's operations one by one—quietly, strategically."
Richie looked at Tommy carefully. "You sure about this? Pulling back could make us look weak. We might lose respect on the street."
Tommy met Richie's eyes with a steely gaze. "Respect doesn't mean shit if we're dead. We need to outlast him, outthink him. Let him think we're backing down. Meanwhile, we cut his legs out from under him."
Richie nodded slowly. "Alright. Let's do it."
The decision to pull back wasn't an easy one, but Tommy knew it was the right call. The days of fighting head-on were over. They couldn't afford to be predictable, not with an enemy like The Wolf. Instead, they'd become shadows, striking from the darkness, destabilizing his empire little by little until he had nowhere left to hide.
---
Over the next few weeks, Tommy's crew began to retreat from the contested territories, abandoning less profitable rackets and pulling their men back to a few key strongholds in the western and southern parts of the city. The move sent shockwaves through the underworld—other gangs began to whisper that Tommy Bannister was losing his grip, that The Wolf had finally broken him. But Tommy didn't care. He was playing the long game now, and every piece he moved was part of a larger strategy.
In the shadows, Richie and Tommy's most trusted men went to work, tracking The Wolf's supply lines with newfound determination. It wasn't easy—The Wolf's organization was built on secrecy, and the few men they captured were either too scared or too loyal to talk. But slowly, through careful observation and a few well-placed bribes, they began to piece together a picture of The Wolf's operation.
One night, after weeks of silence, Richie came to Tommy with a lead. "I've been talking to a guy who runs security down by the docks," Richie said, leaning against the bar. "He's not one of ours, but he owes me a favor. Says he's seen a lot of unusual activity down there lately. Late-night shipments, heavy security. Could be one of The Wolf's main smuggling points."
Tommy narrowed his eyes. "Which dock?"
"South Glebe," Richie said. "It's an old industrial area, mostly abandoned now, but there's been a lot of movement down there. It fits with the pattern we've been seeing on the map."
Tommy nodded, his mind racing. South Glebe was the perfect spot for a smuggling operation—out of the way, with access to both the harbor and the main roads leading into the city. If they could disrupt The Wolf's operations there, it would be a significant blow.
"Get the crew together," Tommy said, his voice steady. "We're going to take a look."
---
A few nights later, Tommy and his men were parked a few blocks from the South Glebe docks. The area was eerily quiet, the distant sound of water lapping against the shore the only noise in the stillness of the night. Tommy sat in the driver's seat of his car, watching through binoculars as trucks rolled into the docks, their headlights cutting through the darkness.
"Looks like we found it," Richie whispered from the passenger seat.
Tommy nodded, lowering the binoculars. "Let's see what they're moving."
They crept closer, moving through the shadows of the abandoned buildings that lined the dockyards. As they neared the warehouses, they could see the figures of men unloading crates from the trucks. The security was tight—more than usual for a regular smuggling operation. It was clear that whatever The Wolf was moving through these docks, it was important.
Tommy motioned for Richie to follow him as they made their way closer. They crouched behind a stack of old shipping containers, close enough now to hear the muffled voices of the workers and the occasional barked order from the guards.
"Wait for them to load up," Tommy whispered. "We'll hit the trucks on the road. Make sure they don't reach their destination."
Richie nodded, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of trouble.
They waited in the shadows for what felt like hours, watching as the men continued their work. The tension in the air was palpable, but Tommy kept his focus. This was how they'd win—by staying patient, by striking only when the moment was right.
When the trucks finally pulled away from the docks, Tommy and his crew followed at a distance, their headlights off, moving through the dark streets like predators stalking their prey.
But something nagged at Tommy as they drove—an unease he couldn't shake. It was too quiet. Too simple.
As if The Wolf had planned for this.
Tommy's grip tightened on the wheel, and he forced himself to stay calm. They had to trust the plan. They had to believe that, this time, they would be the ones with the upper hand.