The room was dim, shadows clinging to the corners like secrets. The private dining room in the back of the restaurant was perfect for this kind of meeting—soundproofed, tucked away, and nondescript. No one would think twice about who we were or why we were here. The food sat untouched in front of us, a formality more than anything else. Luca sat across from me, calm and steady, like always. Vito was to my right, his eyes sweeping the room every few seconds, alert to any threat.
The door opened, and in walked the detective, followed by an FBI agent. They were dressed down, trying to blend in, but their posture gave them away—rigid, cautious, and always on guard. The agent’s face was sharp, his eyes scanning every detail, every twitch of muscle. He was the kind of guy who didn’t miss much.
