Vincent took a sip of his wine, savoring the rich, velvety taste
The women hovered around them, their eyes downcast, serving drinks and food without a word.
The Castellanos gang were in high spirits, their laughter echoing off the wooden walls. The clinking of glasses and the sound of leather against leather as they slapped each other's backs were heard.
Vincente Castellanos, sat at the head of a makeshift table, his eyes scanning the room.
Don Ricci approached, his stride purposeful, his eyes blazing with barely contained rage.
The air grew taut, charged with the electricity of two predators sizing each other up.
The room fell silent, the only sound the distant murmur of the crowd outside and the crackle of the fireplace.
"You think you've won, Castellanos?" Ricci spat, his voice low and menacing.
Vincent looked up from his wine. "Won?" he repeated, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "This was just a warm-up."
Ricci's men tensed, their hands inching towards their holstered weapons.
"War," Ricci hissed, leaning in close, his spittle landing on the polished wood of the bar. "This is what you've started, Castellanos."
Vincent's smile grew colder. "I didn't start it, Don Ricci. Maybe you'rejust thinking it as a war." He said with cold smirk.
The two dons stared at each other.
Don Ricci spoke first, his voice a low growl "You think you can just take over my territory, Castellanos? you thinking I don't know, you what you're doing behind my back. I built this empire with my own two hands, and I won't let anyone bastards take it from me!"
Vincent Castellanos leaned back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, I think you're mistaken, Ricci. This isn't about territory. It's about power." His eyes glinted with the cold light
Don Ricci's face turned a shade darker, the veins in his neck bulging with the effort to restrain his rage. "What are you talking about?" he snarled, his hands clenching into fists.
Vincent Castellanos leaned closer, his smile never wavering. "Your little stunts, the attempts on my life, the raids on my businesses. It's all so... amateurish," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "But it's not about territory or even respect, is it? It's about power, Ricci. You know I'm coming for the throne, and you're desperate to cling to what you have."
Ricci's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You think you're so clever," he sneered. "But I know your game. You won't become the supreme leader because I will end your life tonight."
With a swift movement, Ricci's hand shot under the shirt, grabbing a hidden knife. Before anyone could react, he lunged at Vincente.
The room erupted into chaos as Ricci's men and the Castellanos gang clashed, fists flying, bottles shattering, and chairs crashing to the ground.
With a blurring speed, Vincent launched himself at Ricci, his fists connecting with a series of bone-crunching thuds.
Ricci's knife clattered to the floor, forgotten amidst the flurry of punches.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the air as Vincent's rage poured forth, his fists a blur of destruction.
Vincent's smile grew wider, a grim promise of pain.
Chris burst through the doors with more men, their guns drawn and ready to lay down their lives for their don.
They swiftly dispatched several of Ricci's men.
Some Ricci Riders attempted to flee, their eyes wild with fear, only to be cut down in their tracks.
"Hold your fire," Vincente barked.
His eyes locked onto Ricci's, who was now surrounded by his own men, who managed to grab the knife from the ground.
Chris and the men obeyed immediately, their weapons lowered but not holstered, eyes never leaving the Ricci Riders who had their hands up in surrender.
Some of Ricci's men had fallen, but the don himself remained untouched, his eyes never leaving Vincente's.
"Take them," Vincente said calmly, nodding to Ricci's men.
Don Ricci's hand remained tight on the knife, but he knew the game was lost. "You think you can just waltz in here and take what's mine?" he spat, his voice shaking with rage.
Vincent Castellanos stepped forward, the crimson fabric of his shirt sticking to the wound on his side given by Ricci during fight.
He didn't bother to draw his own weapon; "You brought this upon yourself, Ricci," he said, his voice as smooth and deadly as a serpent's hiss.
The older man's face contorted in agony as Vincent's knuckles met his cheekbones with a sickening crack dropping the knife again.
"You're going to pay for this, Castellanos," Ricci managed to grunt, blood spilling from his mouth.
Vincent's smile grew colder. "If only I let you live, Ricci," he said, and then, without a moment's hesitation, he killed him ruthlessly stabbing him with the knife he grabbed from the ground.
Ricci's body slumped to the floor, a marionette with its strings cut, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.
He was now the Supreme leader.
Vincent Castellanos stood tall, his chest heaving with the exertion of the fight.
His racing suit was torn and tattered, revealing a canvas of bruises and gashes.
His knuckles were raw, bloodstained, and swollen from the fight he had dealt to Ricci's face.
A bruise blossomed like a dark flower across his ribs where a bottle had found its mark, and the cut from the knife on his side bled steadily.
His bottom lip was split, and a trickle of blood trailed down his chin. The bruises on his cheekbones stood.
Chris rushed to his side, his eyes scanning the damage with a frenzied concern. "Sir, you need a doctor," he urged, his voice tight with worry.
Vincent waved him off, his eyes never leaving Ricci's lifeless form. "Take care of my men first," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "My wounds are nothing serious."
Chris hesitated, his gaze flicking between his don and the crimson stain spreading on Vincent's side. "But, boss-"
"I said, take care of them first," Vincent repeated, his voice a low growl. "They fought for me. They come before me."
Chris nodded, his expression a mix of admiration and concern. "As you wish, Don," he said before turning to his comrades. "Help the injured men to the hospital."
The room then cleared out.