My hands itch, my right foot wiggles above my left, and I sit next to my uncle, facing the mafia's capos with a deadly intent on my face. I'm furious. Someone intends to sabotage the union of the Italian and Russian mafias, but why?
"I can tell it's the Russians at work. Bombing is their style," someone speaks from the crowd, met with agreements from others in the room.
"They want control over our operation!"
"We won't let this go unpunished."
"They blow up their own places to make it look like an accident, but I know better."
I slam my pen on the desk, silencing the room.
"The news of the explosion just hit the dark web. How did you already know the Russians were hit?" I ask Marcus, the round and chubby capo whose beady eyes gave the last statement. His face drains of color, and a s
