Luca sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled under his chin, his face carved from stone. The exhaustion from the previous night’s raid and the fresh horror of Sofia’s torture video still lingered in his blood, but he had forced it down. The don could not afford weakness. Not when every second Sofia spent in that concrete hell chipped away at his sanity.
Victor entered carrying a thick folder, his expression grim. Matteo, Dante, and Romano were already seated. Elena, Luca’s mother, stood quietly by the window, her elegant hands clasped tightly. She rarely joined these meetings, but today felt different— heavier.
“Talk,” Luca ordered, voice low and commanding.
Victor dropped the folder on the table and began, flipping through pages as he spoke. “We dug deeper into Bianca like you a
