THE SERPENT'S SCALPEL

The air in the back room of "The Velvet Cage" hangs thick with the scent of aged whiskey and desperation. Vince Romano leans back in his plush leather chair, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. He watches the other players around the mahogany poker table, his gaze like a predator assessing its prey. Tonight, the stakes are higher than usual.

He taps a manicured finger against his stack of chips, a silent rhythm against the rising tension. Marco, his consigliere, stands silently behind him, a shadow in the periphery, ever watchful. The game is Texas Hold'em, but the real game is power.

Across from him sits Sal Moretti, his face flushed, sweat beading on his brow. Moretti, the head of the rival family, is a volatile man, prone to rash decisions. Vince knows this is his advantage.

"Raise," Moretti growls, pushing a mountain of chips into the center of the table.

Vince's lips curve into a subtle smile. "Call," he replies, his voice smooth as silk, matching Moretti's bet.

The tension in the room intensifies. The other players, a mix of local businessmen and low-level thugs, hold their breath, sensing the impending storm. This isn't just about money; it's about territory, respect, and the delicate balance of power in the city.

The dealer, a nervous young man with darting eyes, lays down the flop: Ace of Spades, King of Diamonds, Queen of Clubs.

Moretti's eyes widened. He has a potential straight. Vince remains impassive, his face a mask of controlled indifference.

"Check," Moretti says, his voice tight.

Vince pauses, letting the silence stretch. He knows Moretti is bluffing, or at least, hoping he is. "Raise," he says softly, pushing forward another stack of chips.

Moretti hesitates, his eyes flicking between Vince and the cards. He knows Vince is a master of reading people, of exploiting their weaknesses.

"I'm all in," Moretti declares, shoving the rest of his chips into the pot.

Vince's smile widens, a flash of teeth in the dim light. "I call," he says, revealing his hand: Ace of Clubs, Ace of Hearts. Full house.

Moretti stares at the cards, his face turning a shade of purple. He has been outmaneuvered and outplayed. He slams his fist on the table, sending chips scattering.

"This isn't over, Romano," he spits, his voice filled with venom.

"It never is, Sal," Vince replies calmly, raking in the chips. "But tonight, you lost."

As Moretti storms out of the room, Vince feels a familiar thrill course through him. He has won the battle, but he knows the war is far from over. The whispers of an impending gang war have been growing louder, and tonight's game has only served to confirm his suspicions.

He glances at Marco, who nods imperceptibly. "Prepare the men," Vince says, his voice low. "It's time to remind them who runs this city."

The serpent has struck, but its gaze remains fixed on the horizon, anticipating the next challenge, the next threat. The game has just begun.

He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, the taste bitter and familiar. The night is young, and the city is about to bleed.

Outside, the rain begins to fall, washing away the day's sins. Vince stands, straightening his tailored suit. His phone vibrates in his pocket-a text from an unknown number. He opens it, his expression hardening as he reads the message.

We have your daughter.

His blood turns to ice. Impossible. No one knows about Maria. No one except the inner circle. Someone has betrayed him.

Marco notices the change in his boss's demeanor. "Sir?"

Vince slides the phone back into his pocket, his mind racing. He hasn't spoken to Maria in years, not since he sent her away to boarding school in Europe under a different name. A precaution to keep her safe from this very scenario.

"Change of plans," he says, his voice dangerously calm. "Get the car ready."

As they exit the back door of The Velvet Cage, Vince spots a sleek black sedan across the street. The window rolls down just enough for him to see the barrel of a gun.

"Down!" he shouts, pushing Marco aside as the night erupts in gunfire.