Inferno (R-18)

In the O'Neal brothers' base, the air thick with smoke and the sound of cheerful chatter, Neasan and Ros O'Neal, the notorious leaders of the O'Neal gang, were in high spirits. They sat around a round table laden with poker chips and cards, flanked by young, scantily clad women who giggled and fawned over their every move.

Neasan, the taller of the two brothers, nudged Ros with his elbow as he dealt the cards. "So, since Lorenzo returned from the war... any word on what he's been up to?" His eyes glinted with curiosity, but there was a hint of uneasiness in his voice.

Ros, puffing a cloud of smoke from his cigar, waved a dismissive hand. "Ach, there's no need to worry about that pansy. The war must've turned him into a pussycat. Have you seen how he's just sitting there twiddling his thumbs while we've been taking over his turf, inch by inch?" He chuckled, slapping the table as he won the hand.

Neasan, emboldened by his brother's words, threw back his head and laughed heartily, his meaty hand squeezing the waist of the nearest prostitute as he drew her in for a forceful kiss. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of doubt, as if he wasn't entirely convinced that their rival's silence boded well for them.

The air in the room shifted as one of the O'Neal brothers' underlings spoke up, a scowl on his coarse face. "That Lupo guy ain't a problem, boss." Another thug chimed in, adjusting his fedora. "He doesn't stand a chance against the O'Neal brothers. No place for him in the Lower East Side." The table erupted in crude laughter, save for the two brothers, Neasan and Ros, who shared a fleeting glance.

Just then, their third brother, Cook, burst through the doors, his ragged breathing the only sound in the silent room. "Neasan, Ros, I've got an urgent message!" His voice was a mixture of terror and urgency.

Neasan, his pudgy fingers clenching the edge of the table, asked, "What is it, Cook?"

Cook's ashen face spoke volumes. "A group of armed men just... just attacked three of our stores and two of our businesses operations in the neighborhood!"

Panic creased Neasan's features as he shot to his feet. Ros, however, remained seated, a dangerous gllimmer in his eyes. "Who do they think they are, huh? To mess with the O'Neals."

"I... I don't know!" Cook's voice shook, his hands trembling. "They came at our stores with Tommy guns, spraying bullets everywhere!"

Ros, who had been calm a moment ago, now stood up with fists clisted at his sides.

"What about our men, Cook? Did they fight back?" Neasan demanded, his voice raised an octave higher.

"I-I only know they tried, but..." Cook stammered, visibly shaken. "Lucio..." His words trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air. Lucio, their most trusted enforcer, was as good as dead. The table erupted in a cacophony of curses and disbelief.

"Damn it all to hell!" Ros slammed his fist on the table, causing the cards to fly up in the air. "And the cops, are they going to do anything about this?"

Cook shook his head, "It's late, the attackers... they've already sped off in their cars. They're long gone by now."

Neasan, fuming, grabbed the poker chip and flung it across the room. It hit the wall with a clatter, miraculously not chipping the faded wallpaper. "Damn it all to hell! This is it! I've had enough of these lowlife scum thinking they can mess with the O'Neal brothers!" He turned to Cook, his eyes ablaze with fury. "Round up the boys, Cook. We're teaching these bastards a lesson they won't forget!"

Ros, visibly calmer but no less furious, placed a restraining hand on his brother's shoulder. "Neasan, hold on. We don't know who we're dealing with here. These men were well-armed and organized. We can't just go in guns blazing."

Neasan gritted his teeth, but he knew Ros was right. "Fine. Then what do you suggest?"

Ros tapped his chaw against his teeth, thinking. "We'll start by finding out who these punks are. Send word to our partners on the streets, offered a reward for any information. I don't care how much it costs, we find out who orchestrated this."

Cook nodded, "Yes, big bro." He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the O'Neal brothers to stew in their fury.

"Do you think it's Lupo?" Neasan asked, voicing the question on both their minds.

Ros shrugged, "Could be. But it doesn't matter. Whoever it is, they've just declared war on the O'Neal brothers. And we don't take kindly to that."

"Wait!" Neasan said, concern etched in his face as he grabbed Ros's sleeve. "Tell Cook to take Ray and Keith with him, and a few more men. These bastards might be waiting in the streets, gunning for him."

Ros, realizing the sense in his brother's words, nodded.

"Good call." He motioned to a nearby thug, "Hey, go tell Cook to take Ray, Keith, and a few more hands with him. We don't want any more of ours getting clipped tonight."

The man nodded and scurried off.

With their orders given, Neasan and Ros were left in the now-quieted base with only a few remaining men. The air was thick with tension, the cheerful card game and carousing forgotten in the wake of the recent events.

***

Crouched in the shadows across the street, hidden by the cover of darkness, Lorenzo watched the O'Neal brothers' base. His sharpeyesight zeroed in on the commotion inside the lit-up window.

"Sir, it looks like we've hit a nerve," Richard chuckled softly, observing the chaos through his scope.

Lorenzo's lips quirked into a smirk. "Excellent." His voice was low but carried an edge of menace. "Once they've sent their men out, their defenses will be thinned. That'll be our chance to strike."

"Understood, boss," his men, Richard, Julius, and Leo, and few men, chorused, their faces grim but determined.

"That's Cook O'Neal," Lorenzo said, his voice a low growl as he watched the youngest O'Neal scramble into one of the waiting cars. "Their fifth, after that Lucio scumbag." He chuckled darkly as the vehicles sped off into the night. "Perfect."

"Go time." He signaled to his men, Richard, Julius, and Leo, who nodded in return.

They silnently approached the O'Neal's base, sticking to the shadows. As they neared the entrance, Lorenzo's men didn't show any sign of fear. This was the moment they'd been waiting for, and they wouldn't let Lorenzo down.

"Now!" Lorenzo hissed, and with a practiced move, Richard and Julius barreled through the doors, Tommy guns at the ready. The few remaining thugs were caught off-guard, scrambling for their lives as the well-coordinated attackers fanned out.

Lorenzo and his men had the upper hand, thanks to their meticulous planning and the O'Neal's carelessness.

The sound of gunfire erupted through the air as Lorenzo, Richard, Julius, Leo, and their men mowed down the surprised guards. The commotion upstairs was music to their ears; they knew the O'Neal brothers had been alerted, but it was too late.

"Upstairs, men!" Lorenzo barked, and his men charged up the rickety stairs, their footsteps muffled by their shoes.

Five days of planning, of gathering Intel, of learning the ins and outs of the O'Neal brothers' base, and it all boiled down to this moment. No more would they terrorize their turf.

The O'Neals had underestimated their enemy, and now, they'd pay the price.

***

"Intruders!" Ros bellowed, all pretense of composure gone. He looked at the three men who'd been partaking in their poker game moments ago. "You three, hold them off! Don't let them get through that door!"

One man hesitated, his face ashen at the sound of gunfire drawing closer.

"Do it, or I'll cut off your fucking supply!" Neasan roared, and that was enough to spur them into action.

As their men took their positions, the O'Neal brothers exchanged a grim look. "Stall them," Ros mouthed, and without waiting for a response, they darted towards a hidden door at the back of the room.

The O'Neal brothers didn't even spare a glance at the terrified women cowering in the corner as they descended the stairs, their footsteps fueled by desperation and greed.

The sound of gunfire and agonized screams followed them, but they'd be damned if they'd go down without a fight.

"Aargh! Please, don't!" The shrieks of their men echoed through the halls, and even though the O'Neal brothers were hardened criminals, they couldn't help but flinch.

"Cowards," Ros spat under his breath as they raced down the secret passageway. It was their only chance now, their last hope of escaping the carnage upstairs.

The brothers's hearts pounded in their chests as they neared the final door, the one that lead to the alleyway and freedom. They'd ditch their car and lay low for a while, regroup, and then strike back at this Lupo punk.

As they flung the door open, they froze.

Standing before them, smirking like the Grim Reaper himself, was Lupo.

"Looks like we meet again, O'Neal brothers."

"Lupo!" The O'Neal brothers exclaimed in unison, their faces ashen.

Lorenzo smirked, tommy gun in hand. "Well, well, well. Looks like the mighty O'Neal brothers are running scared now, huh?"

Ros, the smarter of the two, managed to blurt out, "How? How did you get your hands on those?" He knew such weapons were supposed to be off-limits to small-time hoods like them, reserved only for the Mafia families.

Lorenzo's smile was as cold as the barrel of his gun. "Let's just say I made a few... acquisitions during my time in the army. And I've been saving them... for this."

"You broke the code, Lupo!" Neasan spat, a desperate edge in his voice. "The Barzini family protects us! You know that!"

Lorenzo's smile turned icy. "The Barzini family? I don't see them here. They can't help you now."

Ros reached for his Wesley gun, but it was too late. Lorenzo's tommy gun roared, spraying bullets at point-blank range. Ros's head exploded like a watermelon, his brains and bone fragments splattering Neasan's face and shirt.

"Aargh!" Neasan screamed, his voice high-pitched with terror. He stumbled back, slipping in the muck as he tried to escape his own demise. "Please! I'll do anything—"

Lorenzo didn't flinch. He leveled his smoking barrel at Neasan's quivering chest and pulled the trigger.

A red stain blossomed across Neasan's shirt as his body crumpled to the floor, joining his brother's lifeless form.

Lorenzo stepped over the twitching corpses, his face a mask of stone. "It's over," he muttered.

With a curt nod, he motioned to Richard, who walked beside him, his own tommy gun smoking in his hand. "Douse them in gasoline. Leave nothing to chance."

Lorenzo's grin sent a chill down the spines of even the most hardened mobsters. Richard grabbed a can of gasoline from a nearby nook and splashed it over the bodies and the base of O'Neal brothers.

Julius, his face a cold mask, lit a match and casually flicked it onto the gas-soaked floor.

Whoosh! The house erupted into an inferno so intense, the very walls seemed to scream.

Lorenzo and his men vanished into the shadows as the O'Neal brothers' base was consumed by the raging inferno.