A:
The air in the underground chamber hung heavy with the scent of stale cigar smoke and anticipation. Men in dark suits, faces etched with a mixture of loyalty and apprehension, sat around a long, heavy oak table. The only light came from a single, bare bulb hanging precariously from the low ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows that amplified the clandestine nature of the gathering. At the head of the table sat Dean Menapoulis, the undisputed leader of the Vincenza Mafia Group, his presence radiating an aura of power that silenced any murmur. He sat back in his chair, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand—likely the same high-quality vodka he favored at his mansion.
The meeting had been tense, a series of hushed reports and whispered instructions regarding ongoing operation
