Page 58 of The Mafia's Second Shot

“And the ones who aren’t disbanding?” I ask, my voice steady.

“They’re trying to make deals,” Angelo replies. “We’ve already had a few come forward, offering intel in exchange for protection.”

Marco snorts, his expression skeptical. “Half of them are probably lying through their teeth, but some of the intel checks out.”

“What kind of intel?” Cooper asks, his voice sharper now.

Marco glances at him, then at me, before answering. “Locations of safe houses, stashes of weapons, names of stragglers who might try to regroup. Nothing earth-shattering, but it’s enough to keep us ahead of the game.”

As they continue discussingthe fallout, I notice how naturally Marco takes the lead. He’s confident, decisive, and the others follow his direction without question. It’s not just loyalty—it’s respect. And for the first time, I start to wonder if this is part of Cooper’s plan. He’s been quieter since the battle, morereflective, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s preparing for something.

The conversation shiftswhen one of Marco’s men knocks on the door, stepping inside with a cautious expression. “We’ve got a few of Rossi’s guys in the warehouse,” he says. “They’re asking for a sit-down.”

Marco’s brow furrows. “What do they want?”

“Protection,” the man replies. “And they’re offering information in return. It sounds legit, but...”

“But you don’t trust them,” Marco finishes, standing. “Smart. I’ll handle it.”

He glances at me, his tone softening. “You coming?”

I hesitate, looking at Cooper. He meets my gaze, his eyes steady. “Go,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The warehouse isa stark contrast to the hospital—cold, industrial, and buzzing with quiet tension. Marco and I step inside to find three men sitting at a table near the center of the space, their postures wary but not hostile. Marco’s men flank them, weapons at the ready, though the atmosphere remains more controlled than aggressive.

The leader of the group, a middle-aged man with a scar across his jaw, looks up as we approach. “Marco,” he says, his voice calm. “Thanks for meeting with us.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Marco replies, crossing his arms. “You’re on my turf.”

“Fair enough,” the man says, raising his hands slightly. “We’re not here to cause trouble. Rossi’s gone, and we’ve got no loyalty to what’s left of his crew. We just want a way out.”

Marco’s eyes narrow. “And what do we get in return?”

The man nods toward a folder on the table. “Everything we know—locations, names, plans that were in motion before Rossi went down. You help us disappear, and it’s yours.”

The negotiation is tense,every word weighed carefully. Marco keeps his composure, asking sharp questions and pushing back when the answers don’t satisfy him. I stand off to the side, watching as he handles the situation with a mix of authority and pragmatism.

“You’re asking a lot,” Marco says finally, his tone cool. “How do I know you’re not feeding us bullshit?”

The man spreads his hands. “Check the intel. You’ll see it’s solid. We’ve got no reason to lie—we’re done with this life.”

Marco studies him for a long moment before nodding. “We’ll verify the information. If it checks out, we’ll talk.”

The man exhales, relief flashing across his face. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Marco says, motioning for his men to escort the group out. “We’re not running a charity.”

As the men leave,I turn to Marco, unable to hide my curiosity. “You handled that well.”

He shrugs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not my first negotiation.”

“No, but it’s different now,” I say, my voice thoughtful. “You’re not just speaking for yourself. You’re speaking for all of them.”

Marco’s expression shifts, something like pride flickering in his eyes. “I learned from the best.”

Later,back at the hospital, I sit beside Cooper as he picks at the dinner tray the nurses brought him. He looks better—his color is returning, and there’s more energy in his voice—but he’s still far from his usual self.

“Marco’s good at this,” I say, testing the waters.

---