Page 63 of Shadows of Steel
Mattia barely looks in my direction, already immersed in his game again. He nods absently. “Okay.”
That’s all I get. I don’t press for more. That’s not how we work. Pushing off the doorframe, I step back into the hallway, my gaze lingering for a brief moment before I turn away. The house is quiet, as I make my way downstairs.
Chapter 19
Dante
Outside the estate is bathed in a golden hue as the sun sinks lower. I nod to my men, and without a word, one moves ahead, pulling open the car door. I slide inside, the door shutting behind me with a finality that mirrors my mood. The drive is short, but my patience is already stretched to its limit. Before I know it, the car slows, pulling up in front of Il Vero, an exclusive club that operates as neutral ground for our business. A place where deals are made, alliances tested, and, sometimes, bodies disappear.
Mario is already there, leaning against his car, a cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curls in the air as he watches me step out, flicking the ashes onto the pavement. “Took your time.” He says, exhaling.
I glance at him as I shut the door. “You just like being early.”
He smirks, tapping his cigarette once before taking another drag. “Or maybe I just enjoy the silence before the bullshit starts.”
I say nothing as I adjust my cuffs and head toward the entrance. Mario falls into step beside me, discarding his cigarette before pushing open the heavy doors. Inside, smoke lingers in the air, thick and heavy, mixing with the scent of aged whiskey. The dim lighting in the private room casts long shadows across the polished table. The men seated around it fall silent as I step in, their conversations dying mid-sentence.
Vito, head of the Carbone family, is the first to speak. He’s the oldest at this table, in his fifties, with years of blood and business behind him. Traditional. Calculated. More interested in power than loyalty.
“We have a problem.” His voice is low. “The last shipment from Calabria was seized. We’re talking millions in losses.”
I take a seat at the head of the table, my fingers tapping once against the wood. “And?”
His brows pull together. “And? What do you mean, and? We need a new route—”
“Or we take back what’s ours.” Adriano Esposito, the youngest at the table, barely into his thirties, cuts in. He’s reckless. Impulsive. The kind of man who would rather start a fire than put one out. “Allowing them to believe they can encroach on our ports would be a grave mistake.”
One of the Albania’s most ruthless mafia syndicate, have been a relentless problem, their greed and arrogance growing with each passing day.
I exhale slowly, unfazed. “They’re probing for weaknesses. If it’s war they want, war is what they’ll get. But reckless action costs more than shipments.”
A slow chuckle pulls my attention to Lorenzo Gallo, another one of my Capos. He tips his glass lazily, swirling the amber liquid inside, the ice clinking against the crystal. “Speaking of limits…” His voice drips with amusement, each word drawn out like a man who enjoys hearing himself speak. “That Moretti woman of yours, she was quite the sight at the wedding.” He leans back, eyes glinting with something I don’t like. “I can see why you rushed to put a ring on her. A woman like that? I bet she’s—”
The gun is in my hand before he finishes. I fire a single shot into the wall behind his head. The room goes silent. Lorenzo doesn’t move. His smirk vanished.
I set the gun down with meticulous ease, letting the silence stretch, the weight of inevitability settle over the room. My voice drops. “Next time, it won’t be the wall. It’ll be your fucking skull split open across this table.”
I tilt my head, eyes cold. “This is getting fucking tedious.” My fingers tap once against the wood. “And it’s Mrs. Salvatore toyou. Show some damn respect, or I’ll carve the lesson into your fucking bones.”
I sweep my gaze across the table, meeting each set of eyes in turn, ensuring they understand exactly where they stand. “You all seem to be forgetting something.” My voice remains low, each word edged with warning. “I am not your equal. I am not someone you joke with.”
My gaze lingers, cold and absolute. “You owe me everything you have. Your businesses. Your power. Your lives.”
Mario remains still beside me, watching.
Lorenzo exhales, slow and careful, his jaw tight, the muscles ticking beneath his skin, hate evident in his eyes. “I meant no disrespect, Don Salvatore.”
“Good.” My voice is calm. “Because if you ever speak about my wife, I’ll put you in the ground.”
Riccardo, Boss of Russo family, leans back in his chair, fingers tapping against his glass, a slow smirk playing at his lips. “Now that we’re done with the theatrics, shall we redirect conversation back to business?”
I gesture for him to continue. “The smaller crews are restless,” he says. “They don’t like how you’re running things. They think you’re getting too... soft.”
Mario snorts beside me. “Soft?”
Adriano shifts in his seat, arms crossed. “They don’t like the Sicilian ties. Some of the old guard think you’re too close to the Riccis.”
I smile, slow and sinister. “Then they’re welcome to voice their concerns, to me.”
