Richmond, East Broad Street.
Darragh stormed out of a small Italian restaurant called "Noodles," livid with rage.
As a mid-level boss in the Declan family, this was the first time he'd been run out at gunpoint while collecting protection money.
It was a direct slap in the face to the Declan family—a brazen refusal to respect Richmond's largest Irish gang.
Near the edge of trendy Cary Street.
Darragh entered an unremarkable little bar. This was one of the Declan family's key strongholds in Richmond.
As soon as he walked in, he saw Mel Declan, the family's next-in-line boss, leading a crew out the door.
"Mel! Someone refused to pay protection!" Darragh blurted.
Mel's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Where?"
Darragh pointed.
"Across the street from that new Italian joint on the next block—one of their construction sites."
Mel grinned darkly.
"Perfect. I've been meaning to deal with that little prick who mouthed off the other day.
We'll finish that one first, then go trash the restaurant too."
Leo's construction site on East Broad Street
Three sedans screeched through the gate, ignoring the startled guards.
Doors flew open, and Mel leapt out with a dozen gang members.
Each man carried a Thompson submachine gun, storming toward the construction area with a roar.
Usually, by now, the workers would be scattering in terror.
But these men just stared back at Mel, calm as anything.
What the hell? Valentino must have hired a bunch of idiots.
No—something felt wrong.
"Slow down!" Mel barked.
But it was too late.
Suddenly, from behind piles of construction materials and support columns, dark shapes rose up.
Men in overcoats, holding Thompsons, cold-eyed.
Muzzle flashes lit up the half-built site.
"Shit! It's an ambush!"
Mel dove behind a pile of lumber with his bodyguard shielding him, bullets cutting down the gang members around them.
He peeked out. Almost everyone he'd brought was down—his most loyal enforcer lay twitching in a pool of blood, riddled with holes.
Years of carefully built muscle—the heart of the Declan crew—gone in seconds.
They liked to brag about having 5–6,000 men.
But Mel knew the truth.
Most were just cheerleaders and lookouts.
"Boss, what do we do? Their firepower's too strong, and their aim's deadly," whispered his last uninjured lieutenant.
Mel forced himself to stay calm.
He scanned the site quickly.
Behind them was the newly poured concrete dance floor.
At the far end, he spotted light. An exit.
"Follow me!"
With his bodyguard dead, Mel led the charge himself, sprinting toward salvation.
Outside was the road. Just past that, a park.
If he could make it to the trees, he'd live.
He was already plotting revenge.
I'll nail Valentino to a shooting range and turn that smug face into pulp.
But as he neared the exit, he realized something was wrong.
The light dimmed—silhouettes blocked it.
A line of men waited, weapons ready.
Gunfire erupted.
When the smoke cleared, Phis was standing over Mel's bleeding body.
The so-called big boss lay on the ground, his torso a sieve of bullet holes.
Phis surveyed the carnage, wiping blood from his coat with distaste.
Textbook "surround but leave one path open" strategy.
"Your men were loyal, I'll give them that," he said coolly.
"Even dying, they tried to cover you. Shame it didn't help."
Mel's mouth frothed blood like a fountain.
Hatred and venom burned in his eyes.
"You don't even know who you're messing with, you—"
Phis calmly put a bullet through his skull.
"Cut that disrespectful head off. And his right leg too. Feed it to the dogs.
Asshole thought he could sit there with his legs crossed at the Instructor."
He stepped outside.
Blood pooled in the dust and puddles like so much red confetti.
A gawking bystander on the street asked:
"Hey, why'd you set off Chinese firecrackers over here?"
Phis shot him a death glare.
"Mind your own damn business. It's fun. Got a problem with that?"
Meanwhile, at Leo's Richmond headquarters
The Declan family's thugs showed up as usual to cause trouble.
But this time, a line of black sedans boxed them in.
Muscle-bound men poured out, knocking the gangsters unconscious or tying them up and dragging them away.
Their final destination: the bottom of the James River.
Monroe Park district—Declan family headquarters
The riverfront café used to be a speakeasy in the bootlegging days.
Cormac Declan sat at a small table, sipping coffee.
He was old-school. He hated the flashy shops on Broad Street—too gaudy, too exposed.
He preferred this discreet spot, which felt like "their place."
He was in a foul mood.
Just days ago, the Highland Neighborhood Committee had sent a letter warning him that if his family so much as pointed a gun at another neighbor, they'd revoke his right to live there.
He'd leveraged every threat and bribe he could to buy that house.
Without that Highland address, he wouldn't have the connections to the current Governor—connections that let the Declan family become Richmond's top gang.
A friend had even warned him: Threatening a respectable businessman in his own home? That's pushing it.
Cormac sighed.
He needed to talk sense into Mel.
Times were changing.
The days of gangsters ruling with fear were ending.
If they wanted to survive, they had to stop the bloodshed.
"Boss—package for you. It's got your name on it."
A goon handed over a small parcel.
"Idiot! Get that thing away from me."
Cormac snapped, backing up.
He'd used enough bombs in the bootleg wars to be cautious.
But the shape was all wrong for explosives.
"Open it."
Cormac's bodyguards obeyed, crowding around.
Inside was something wet and red.
A severed, bloody hand.
One bodyguard hissed:
"That's a declaration of war."
They didn't notice Cormac start shaking.
He shoved them aside, stumbling to the table.
His expensive suit smeared blood as he frantically wiped at the severed hand, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Mel... my Mel... my boy..."
He had three children once.
A feud killed his wife and two of them in a single night.
Mel was all he had left.
Now—this.
"Boss! Bad news! The boss is dead! We got ambushed out at the bridge site!"
A blood-soaked lieutenant burst into the café.
His words broke the silence like a gunshot.
More wounded, panic-stricken Declan men flooded in behind him.
From their terrified babble, Cormac learned the awful truth:
All his key men, his trusted lieutenants stationed around Richmond—slaughtered.
Swept away in a single night.