~VALENTINO’S POV~
Outside, the low growl of engines cut through the night as blacked-out SUVs rolled into the lot behind the club, their tinted windows swallowing the dim neon glow.
The doors opened one by one, and out stepped the Anselmo Syndicate, dressed in black suits and shiny black shoes.
Armed, deadly, and dangerous.
I knew every face, especially the smug bast*rd in the middle.
Adriano Anselmo.
Leader of the Anselmo Syndicate.
Sons of traitors.
A Milan-based pack of wolves who thought they could piss on southern soil and call it rain.
They had already broken one of our most sacred laws, moving illegal weapons on Italian land without clearing it through us.
No permission. No cuts. No tribute.
They had tried to smuggle in arms under fake paperwork, set up a deal on my turf
