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VINCENZO The warehouse smelled like concrete, oil, and faint smoke—unlike the other office buildings we ran our legitimate businesses, it was safer to me out here. It wasn’t anything glamorous, but it was ours. The offices above the floor had one long window overlooking the crates stacked like Lego blocks, trucks parked at neat angles, and a few of our men moving around with clipboards. Order in chaos. And when I was present, everyone knew the boss was back. I pushed the metal doors to our main operation center open and stepped into the office where Stefano and Lorenzo were already knee-deep in work waiting for me. Stefano was sat behind a desk cluttered with at least three monitors, his fingers flying over the keys in that obsessive rhythm only he had. His glasses reflecting the cold
- Writer
