The villa’s meeting room was still warm from the tension of the last hour, smelling faintly of expensive aftershave and the acrid smoke of fear. The Romano brothers had left, their forced acceptance of my terms a victory far colder than any I’d achieved in the markets. I stayed at the table, leaning back in the heavy chair, my eyes fixed on the empty spot where Rocco had sat.
Ivan and Alexander were moving through the room, collecting the folders and securing the evidence of Salvatore’s betrayal. They moved with a newfound, terrifying efficiency, understanding that my anger was now their master.
“The Romano contingent has departed. They are mobilizing assets in Naples and Bari as dictated,” Alexander reported, his voice low and clinical. “Enzo is already coordinating port manifests with
