Fallon
The next morning
Leone sits at the head of the table, his expression stoic as he sips his coffee. Vittorio is next to him, his sharp eyes assessing the room with a calculating gaze. Lorenzo and Dante are seated across from me, their faces unreadable, though Dante’s eyes flicker with something darker as they occasionally land on Milo and me.
We eat breakfast in near silence, the only sounds being the clinking of cutlery and the occasional murmur of conversation when I notice Gina hasn’t joined us.
“So,” Vittorio finally breaks the silence, as he glances over at Leone. “The meeting with the Mexicans—do I need to be worried?”
Leone shakes his head, setting his coffee cup down with a decisive clink. “No. The Mexicans are more concerned about the Russians encroaching on their territ
