Six years later...
Vittorio walked with determined steps toward his car, his serious expression reflecting the intensity of his thoughts. As he opened the car door, he picked up the forgotten lunchbox from his son's seat. Sighing, he took the object and was about to close the door when the insistent ringtone of his phone interrupted him. The screen displayed Rocco's number, his current Consigliere. With a hint of irritation, he answered the call, his voice laced with impatience.
"What is it, Rocco?"he questioned brusquely.
On the other end of the line, Rocco's voice sounded serious and resolute. "The French are waiting for you at the meeting, Don Vittorio.”
Vittorio slammed the car door, frustration painting his features. "I'm on my way. I'll drop my son off at school and my
