Page 4 of Marco

Ricci's eyes widen at the mention of Luca, and that clearly this isn't the first time I'd heard about the O'Malley's attack. "With respect, boss, that may only escalate things further—"

I silence Ricci's protest with a raised hand. "I will not permit this insult to go unanswered. Finn must learn his place."

My word is final. Ricci bows his head in acquiescence, and Morales nods.

They know our code. I have proven myself a leader who commands respect, but who is not be crossed. Finn will come to understand this too...one way or another. To remain silent and allow anything other than swift retaliation would be to concede, to wave a white flag and surrender the turf we've fought tirelessly to accumulate.

I dismiss my men to carry out their tasks. As the door closes behind them, the weight of leadership settles on my shoulders once more. I crave no war, only stability. But order must be maintained, even if by force.

This is the burden I bear for those under my command. And bear it I shall, whatever the cost.

Alone again in my office, I pour myself two fingers of Scotch and sink into the leather armchair by the window. The day's events weigh heavy on my mind.

My gaze falls on the framed photo on my desk—-the only personal effect in this stark, imposing space. It's a photo of Mr. Bianchi, my mentor, the man who plucked me off the streets and taught me everything. He saw potential in me when no one else did.

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat as I remember the day he was gunned down. It was the only time I've ever seen Giancarlo Bianchi afraid. He shielded me with his body as the bullets flew. I still remember the wet warmth of his blood soaking my shirt as he took his last breath.

Losing him devastated me. He was the closest thing I had to the idea of a father. In that moment, the last scraps of innocence died within me. From then on, my heart turned to stone. I vowed I would never again let someone get close enough to hurt me that deeply.

And so I've entombed myself in this fortress of solitude, surrounding myself with money, power, and pretty women, yet letting none of them past my defenses. I've become untouchable, unbreakable.

But there are times, like now, when the silence weighs oppressively, reminding me of all I've given up in exchange for control and security. Times when Bianchi's smiling face cuts through the darkness, leaving an aching void behind. What would he say if he saw me now? Would he be proud, or would he caution me against shutting myself off completely?

With a weary sigh, I swallow the scotch in one burning gulp. The war for the streets goes on, but inside, a part of me remains that lost boy mourning his fallen mentor. My empire flourishes, yet I've never felt more alone.

I stand and move to the window, gazing out at the city lights twinkling below. This is all mine, though few know the extent of my reach. From the penthouses to the projects, everyone pays their dues, whether in money, loyalty, or blood.

But lately, rumblings of unrest have begun to stir. Old rivalries threaten to ignite again, of which there is no shortage. And there are whispers of an ambitious newcomer looking to stake his claim.

Change is coming. I can sense it as surely as I can feel the cold glass beneath my fingertips. The underworld is like a slumbering beast—volatile, hangry, and quick to bite when provoked.

But I'm part of that underworld—an important part—and I've worked too hard for too long to lose my hold now. If it's a war they want, I'll bring hell's fury down upon them. I've survived this long by being cunning, ruthless, and always staying one step ahead. Let them come at me with their pathetic plots. Burn one of my warehouses down? I'll burn down three of yours and sell your daughter into sex trafficking after letting all my guys test her out first. Try me. They have no idea who they're dealing with.

I turn from the window, energy coiling tightly in my muscles. My time for brooding is over. There are calls to be made, orders to give. Wheels must be set in motion to consolidate power before the tides can shift against me.

The city holds its breath, blissfully unaware of the chaos about to be unleashed. And I will be the eye of the storm—unflinching, uncompromising. For in the end, only the strongest survive. The streets have taught me that much.

My reflection is interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Enter," I call out, my voice low but commanding.

Luca steps back into the office. I study him closely. His face is grim, his eyes troubled. But I get the sense he hasn't just come to give me a recap on our earlier discussion about the O'Malleys and the attack on the warehouse. Something else is wrong.

"What is it?" I ask, skipping the niceties.

Luca hesitates before answering. "It's about the property on 5th and Pine. There's been a...complication."

I feel my body tense. The building on 5th is a key strategic holding, critical for expanding my reach downtown. I had planned to acquire it quietly through various shell companies.

"What kind of complication?" I press.

"The owner backed out of the sale at the last minute. Refused to sign the papers."

My eyes narrow. This makes no sense. The owner is deep in debt, desperate for a way out. My people had made him an offer too lucrative to pass up. Or so it had seemed.

"Why?" I ask sharply.

Luca shifted on his feet. "He said something about getting a better deal. From who, we don't know yet."

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