Chapter Three: The Night of Fire II
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The night that had begun with music and laughter erupted into chaos.
From the street outside The Velvet Dominion, black SUVs screeched to a halt, their headlights cutting through the neon haze. Men in dark clothing fanned out like predators, their faces obscured by masks, guns already raised. The Riviera Vipers, the Nunca-Caer Family's deadliest rivals, had arrived.
Inside, the bass of the club rattled glasses, the DJs' tracks colliding with sudden alarm. Patrons froze mid-step, some laughing, some in disbelief, eyes widening as the first bullets shattered the velvet curtains of private booths. Others, trusting in the Nunca-Caer Family's reputation, froze with a shrug, assuming it was a minor skirmish that the Marino gang would handle. But fear crept in slowly, like a shadow growing longer. Some guests bolted for exits, their heels clattering against marble floors, others ducked behind furniture.
In the basement, the mood changed immediately. The higher-ranking members of the family, who had been sipping whiskey and playing cards, stiffened. Conversations died mid-sentence. The air thickened with smoke and tension. Men moved with premeditated calm, as if their bodies alone knew the drill, guns ready, hands steady, eyes sharp.
Matt Marino, in his office, felt it before he even picked up the call. The room, dimly lit in gold and amber hues, vibrated with the distant echoes of gunfire. Shayla's soft laugh, previously brushing against his ear, was cut short by the sharp buzzing of his encrypted phone.
He stopped mid-motion, the tension snapping through him. A finger hovered over Shayla's wrist in a gentle pause, not a touch of intimacy now, only a warning, before he lifted the phone.
"Boss. We're under attack," the voice on the other end was clipped, calm but urgent.
Matt's eyes hardened. He pressed a button on his desk.
Shayla's lips parted, her brow furrowing, concern flashing across her features. "Matt… what's happening?"
He didn't answer immediately. His hand hovered over the Glock 17 resting in the drawer beside his chair. The metallic smell of oil and cold steel filled the air as he slid the gun free. Safety off. Magazine checked. Chamber racked. The familiar click reverberated in the office, methodical, precise.
Shayla's hand came up to his chest. "Don't… don't let anything happen to you," she whispered, voice trembling despite her composure. Her eyes, wide and glistening, reflected the low office lights.
Matt softened for a fraction of a second, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "I'm always careful, love. You taught me well."
Kiel and Brian entered the office, a sense of urgency yet calm written in an expressionless face on Brian's. The teenager beside him, knowing the weight of what they were in, clenched his fists. Fire burned in his eyes. "I can fight, father. Let me prove myself tonight." Kiel said staring dead into his father's eyes with a seemingly strong resolve.
Matt's stern expression softened into a faint, almost proud smile. "Ha… trying to act all grown-up, kid?"
"Your moment will come, son. For now," he said, glancing at Brian while patting his son's shoulder, "take care of them."
"Yes boss" Brian answered
Outside the establishment, the sound of boots on concrete echoed as a small squad of elite bodyguards moved into position. Each man was already armed, Glock 19s, Beretta 92FS, and a few suppressed MP5s for close-quarters defense. They moved like shadows, scanning corners, signaling with silent gestures.
Outside, the street erupted. Rivals fired, and bullets shattered the glass of the club's entrance.
Matt, now fully armored in a light Kevlar vest beneath his tailored suit, drew a Desert Eagle from its holster. He moved toward the doorway of his office, glancing once at Shayla. She stood frozen, hands tight on the edge of the desk, eyes tracking every micro-expression of his face.
"Be safe," she called softly, voice tight with worry.
Matt nodded faintly, the mask of the boss returning instantly. "Always," he said, voice low and commanding as he moved once more.
Kiel's heartbeat thundered in his ears. His fists clenched, the taste of adrenaline sharp on his tongue. He could feel every second stretching like a taut wire. Brian's gaze met him with calm, controlled, but warning. Kiel's shoulders squared. He was sixteen, yes, but the blood that ran in his veins, the training, the discipline, they screamed for action.
The basement erupted into motion. Guns were loaded with meticulous care: magazines clicked into place, slides chambered, fingers brushing triggers. Members of the Nunca-caer family gang moved like dancers rehearsed in deadly choreography. Every hallway had a guard; every exit had a watcher. They weren't improvising; they were executing.
"Cover the flanks! Protect the front!" Matt barked, signaling with quick hand gestures. Men split into teams. Shadows melted into the corners, rifles trained, eyes calculating.
Above, the party erupted into chaos. Screams, crashes of overturned furniture, the metallic clatter of thrown bottles. Some guests pressed themselves against walls, praying the violence wouldn't reach them. Others, emboldened by their faith in the Nunca-Caer Family, waited, fists clenched, eyes darting though still taking cover.
Outside, the Vipers' SUVs fired as men scrambled from behind them. The street was a deadly chessboard, each step, each corner potentially fatal. Red neon lights flickered off cracked asphalt, bullets ricocheting off steel, and the screams of the shocked and terrified punctuated the bass of the still-thumping music.
Matt's eyes narrowed at the chaos unfolding, he accessed the situation again, seeing the layout of his men across the floors he gestured to them to which they responded. He exhaled slowly, the weight of responsibility pressing down. He thought of his son, Kiel, standing tense, untested in real combat, and he felt the sting of what could be lost.
"Tonight changes everything," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
The umpteenth volley of bullets hit the reinforced doors of the basement. The Nunca-caer Family members fired back with deadly precision.
Meanwhile Brian loaded his gun and placed one underneath his belt leaving one on his hands. "Get ready kid, you'd see a lot today" he said with a psychopathic smile as he looked at Kiel. "There's always a first time though" Shayla said as she clicked her own weapon.
"Yeah, I forgot your father was a gangster himself" Kiel thought I response seeing his mother her handle the gun with what can only be as a result of training and experience "Alright aunt Shay, are we ready to roll?" Brian asked smirking.
"This isn't some video game you know" Shayla said laughing
To every member of the Nunca-caer family gang, this was just another regular attack where they'd go out and return with victory.
Little did they know that it wouldn't be ball as usual. Little did Kiel realise that the night would usher in a new era for the inhabitants of Kearny.