*VINCENZO*
The meeting room felt stifling, as if the weight of my frustrations bore down on the air itself. I glanced at the faces around the long mahogany table, their expressions a mix of anticipation and ignorance. The flickering light overhead cast shadows on their features, outlining the tension that was mounting like a summer storm. It was almost surreal, sitting there—me, Vincenzo, in the eye of chaos, while my thoughts were spiraling far away from what should have been a simple discussion about Orlando De Luca and his movements in the murky underbelly of our world.
"Vincenzo," Jesse said, leaning forward, confidence radiating from her like the subtle scent of cigar smoke. My most trusted ally, the Phantom club owner, had been gathering intel on De Luca. She had this way of making
