Decisive Plan

Adam's jaw clenched as Lorenzo asked about the gang's affairs. In the two years since Lorenzo had left for war, the Lupo gang had been crumbling. The other gangs had circled like vultures, vying for their share of the crumbling gang. Adam's eyes darted around the room, avoiding his friend's gaze. "It's... been difficult," he said truthfully. "Without your leadership, the vultures have circled. The Russians, Chinese and Albanians have been the worst, but... it's still the Italians we should worry about the most. They've got the mafia's backing."

Lorenzo's eyebrows furrowed, his fingers tapping against his chin. "Russians, Albanians, Chinese, huh..." he mused aloud. "And the mafia's still pulling the strings, eh?"

Adam glanced down at the table, unable to meet his friend's eyes. "Yeah..." he mumbled, "It's been... a struggle. But we're hanging on... barely."

Other ethnic gangs carving out their own turf in New York City was nothing new. The Italians, with their fingers in every crooked pie downtown, had always been the top dogs. After all, the Five Families only took in their own, recruiting made men from among their fellow countrymen. But after them, the playing field was more fractured.

Lorenzo leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "We can't do much about the Italians right now," he reasoned aloud. "They're too deep in bed with the big bosses. But what about here, in our own backyard? Who's been giving us the most grief since I left?"

Adam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, those Albanians and Chinatown gangs, they've been nibbling at our black market profits," he admitted, "but it's not them that's our real problem." He took a deep breath, knowing what would come next.

A chill settled over the room as Lorenzo spoke, his words sharp as icicles. "Tell me their gangs."

Adam gulped, hesitating before admitting, "It's the Irish and Jewish gangs. They've been... gaining ground," he trailed off, unable to meet his friend's icy glare.

Lorenzo's eyebrows shot up. "The Jews, I can understand, but the Irish? I thought we had an understanding with the Micks."

Adam shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "It's the O'Connors, O'Malleys, and those damn O'Neil brothers. They've been muscling in on our turf since you…" Adam trailed off, not wanting to say the words 'since you took a powder.'

"Tell me more," Lorenzo said, the ice in his voice as cold as the winter winds of the East River.

Adam took a deep breath, his hands trembling. "They've got more muscle than us now. And they've been squeezing us hard. If it weren't for the protection we're paying the Barzini family, we'd be swimming with the fishes by now."

Lorenzo lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his face like a sinister halo. "So, the Barzini's are still useful for something," he mused. "And these Jewish gangs, are they still in check?"

"For now," Adam said, "But who knows for how long, with the Italians distracted with the O'Connors and O'Malleys."

Adam shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Lorenzo fell silent, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft hiss of the stove in the back. Finally, Lorenzo laughed, a cold, humorless sound that sent a shiver down Adam's spine.

"Well, Adam," he said, "I'm not one to hide behind the skirts of the Barzini family." He stood up, his chair scraping against the linoleum floor. "It's time we remind these mick clowns who really runs this neighborhood."

Adam's heart skipped a beat. "Lorenzo, I don't think that's a good idea!" he blurted out, panic creeping into his voice. "They're paying their protection fees! If we move on them, the Barzini family won't like it!"

Lorenzo placed a hand on Adam's shoulder, his grip firm but not yet crushing. "Listen, my friend," he said, his voice low and menacing. "We can't let these other gangs think they can walk all over our turf." His eyes bored into Adam's, leaving no room for argument. "They might've gotten away with it when I was gone, but not anymore. If we don't put them in their place now, they'll keep pushing us around."

Adam swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his gaunt neck. "Y-You're right, b-but, L-Lorenzo... the O'Neil brothers alone... they have more men than us."

Lorenzo's laughter was like the rusty creak of a long-unused gate. "More men, more bodies to bury," he said with a grin that sent a shiver down Adam's spine. "Quality over quantity, amico mio. We'll hit them where it hurts, their operations, their bosses, their ego. Then, when they're weak, we'll move in for the kill."

Adam's stomach churned, but he forced a smile onto his face. "Whatever you say, boss."

Lorenzo patted his shoulder. "Good. We'll start by gathering intel on their weaknesses, their habits, their secrets. And when the time is right, we'll strike, and when we do, it'll be like the wrath of the very underworld itself."

Lorenzo's smile was predatory as he watched the unbelief and fear flickering in Adam's eyes. He knew that his second-in-command was right to be worried, but Lorenzo had something else up his sleeve. He had a cheat system, granting him strength and power beyond any mere human's. In his heart, he knew he couldn't just carry a car, but he felt invincible nonetheless.

"Call Max and Patrick," he said, a confident smirk on his face.

Adam hesitated, but after a moment's indecision, he left to fetch the other two men.

Max and Patrick, both ex-military, entered the room and saluted Lorenzo. Adam's eyes widened, not used to the show of deference.

"At ease, boys," Lorenzo said, waving them down. "We're not in the army anymore. Have a seat."

As the three men gathered around the table, a conspiratorial air settled over them.

"Gentlemen," Lorenzo began, a hard edge to his voice, "we're at war. The O'Neil brothers have pushed us around long enough, and now it's time we show them who really rules this turf."

Max and Patrick exchanged glances, surprise and trepidation written on their faces.

"You mean we're going after the Irish?" Max asked, eyes wide.

Lorenzo nodded, unfazed. "That's right. And Patrick, as the capo of our crew, I want you to gather our men and arm them to the teeth. We're not leaving any survivors."

Patrick's expression hardened, his military training kicking in. "Yes, Colonel."

Lorenzo turned to Max. "As my consigliere, I want you to help me plan our strike on the O'Neil brothers' compound. We'll hit them five days later, when they least expect it."

Max's eyes widened, but he quickly composed himself, a smile tugging at his lips. "It'll be my honor."

Finally, Lorenzo turned to Adam. "Adam, as our new underboss, I want you to oversee our operation from our base of operations. Keep an eye on our backs, and if things go south, you're in charge."

Adam swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the sudden promotion but determined not to let his friend down. "Yes, boss. You can count on me."

"Good," Lorenzo said, slapping each of their shoulders. "We leave at five days, in midnight. May the odds be in our favor, boys."

***

The days passed, the air was thick with tension as the Lupo crew gathered in an abandoned warehouse, preparing for their strike on the O'Neil brothers.

Lorenzo, flanked by his newly appointed capo Patrick and Max, surveyed their men. Among them were the fresh-faced faces of Leo and Julius, who'd just finished their military contracts four days prior, and Richard Lawrence, Lorenzo's former second-in-command in the platoon.

There were eighteen other men who'd fought alongside Lorenzo during the war, and now that their contracts had expired, they'd followed him back to New York. They weren't Italian, but Lorenzo didn't care about that "made men" nonsense. He knew their worth, and their loyalty was more important than their heritage. These battle-hardened soldiers became part of the Lupo gang, under the command of his caporegimes.

Meanwhile, the Lupo gang members, mostly young and inexperienced, shifted uneasily in the weight of their tommy guns almost as heavy as the weight of the task ahead. Most of them had never seen real war like Lorenzo, Max, and Richard, or their soldiers had; they were just thugs from the streets of New York. So, Lorenzo had enlisted the help of his trusted caporegimes to train the new recruits in the art of warfare.

The crew had spent the days planning and training, readying themselves for the upcoming confrontation.

Lorenzo's eyes flicked to the mission briefing in his mind, given to him by his system. "Sweep the O'Neal Brothers," it read in cold, impersonal text. "Establish your gang in your turf." The consequences were clear: pique the Barzini family's ire, and stop the other gangs' expansion.

The reward, however, was too tantalizing to resist: 10 points, and the memories of his previous life's 1940s-2000s profitable films, which might come in handy in the future as he can profit from it in entertainment industry.

He'd spent the last two days devouring as much information as possible, analyzing strategies.

The plan was simple, yet devious. The bulk of their force, led by Patrick and Philip, would strike the O'Neal brothers' legitimate businesses, openly-run fronts for their more nefarious dealings. They'd hit their speakeasies, their numbers rackets, and their gambling dens, all while causing just enough chaos to draw the attention of the O'Neal brothers' enforcers.

In the meantime, Max and Richard would lead their men to take out the O'Neal's mini-bosses, leaving the way clear for Lorenzo and his inner circle to move on the O'Neal brothers' headquarters. The Irish mobsters would be too busy putting out the proverbial fires to expect an attack on their home turf.

As the clock tower in the distance struck midnight, signaling the start of D-Day, the Lupo gang members moved out.

Patrick and Philip led their men to the O'Neal's operations, guns at the ready. They hit the first speakeasy with military precision, catching the guards off-guard, and sending them fleeing for their lives.

Max and Richard, on the other hand, fanned out to take out the O'Neal's lieutenants, their submachine guns chattering like angry hornets as they left a trail of bodies in their wake.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo and a hand-picked team, including Richard, Leo, Julius and dozen men, made their way to the O'Neal brothers' headquarters. The building loomed before them.