Alessandro's POV
The air in the club hung thick and heavy, a cloying mix of stale cigar smoke, spilled liquor, and a palpable tension that tightened the air around me like a vise. I strode into the dimly lit back room, the usual boisterous energy of my men replaced by a hushed, almost reverent silence. The opulent décor felt like a stage set for a tragedy, the shadows clinging to the corners of the room like lurking spectres.
Nico stood by the window, his usual stoic mask firmly in place, but his jaw was clenched, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. Rain pelted unforgivingly against the glass, echoing the mood inside the room. Lorenzo paced restlessly, his face ashen, his eyes red-rimmed, radiating a grief so raw it made my chest ache. The empty spaces where Marco and a few of my other
