Antonio DeLuca—a wolf draped in every wolf clothing imaginable. My father could sniff out opportunities like blood in water, going to any length to quench his insatiable greed. But this? Him walking into this room, amongst men who operated in leagues above his own? That was a new low, even for him.
What could he possibly be looking for here? What was a man who built his empire on deception, manipulation, and betrayal doing in the company of those who’d likely see him as nothing more than a small-time hustler?
The room had gone silent, save for the soft clink of a cup as someone adjusted it on the table. My father, always the picture of self-assured charm, cleared his throat like he was addressing a boardroom of intimidated yes-men. He stepped further into the room, his gaze zeroed in on
