Page 64 of Shadows of Steel
Silence. I let it linger, before leaning forward, my voice dropping to something far more dangerous. “This marriage isn’t a burden. It’s leverage. It fortifies us, consolidates power. Anyone too blind to see that, too fucking shortsighted to understand it, is a liability.”
Vito Carbone studies me with measured scrutiny before offering a single nod. “Your wife is of no concern to me. Business is. If this alliance fortifies our position, I have no objections. But if it weakens us, if it so much as fractures the foundation we’ve built, you know what must be done.”
My gaze holds his, unwavering. “Do you think I don’t?”
He doesn’t press further, so I continue. “From now on, all shipments go through Porto Belladonna. The Riccis control it, which means I control it. Calabria is too hot at the moment.” I pause, letting the weight of my words settle. “Handle it.”
Mario inclines his head in silent acknowledgment.
I shift my attention to Adriano. He’s been itching to say something, and when our eyes meet, he doesn’t hold back. “The Albanians aren’t going to ignore this,” he says, leaning in his chair, arms crossed. “They stole from us, millions gone because they thought they could push into our business. If we don’t hit back, they’ll see it as weakness.”
I smile darkly. “Then let’s make sure they fucking regret it.”
My statement is met with silence, the weight of unspoken doubts.
Carbone is the first to voice it. “Retaliation means war. There’s no way around it. Are we ready for that?” His tone is careful, the meaning clear. This isn’t just about taking back what’s ours, it’s about escalation.
Russo doesn’t speak right away. He sits back, one arm draped over the chair, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. There’s always an air of detachment about him, as if he’s weighing every possible outcome before making a move. He doesn’t speak to fill silence, when he does, it matters.
Finally, he exhales, tapping his glass once against the table. “We all know what happens if we move too soon.” His tone is even. “The Albanians don’t play by the same rules as us. They don’t care about structure, honour, or negotiations. They camefor our money, now they’ll come for blood. We take the port, we force their hand. And when they strike back, it won’t be a question of if we’re at war, it’ll be how far we’re willing to go to finish it.”
Gallo lifts his glass, amusement flickering in his eyes. “That’s assuming they even get the chance to retaliate.” He takes a slow sip, his meaning clear, strike hard enough, and there won’t be anyone left to fight back.
Adriano scoffs. “So what? We roll over? Let them dictate how we do business?” His voice is sharp, reckless.
Riccardo gives a half-smirk, but there’s no humour behind it. “The question isn’t whether we hit them, it’s how. If we move too soon, we give them a reason to unite against us. But if we make them bleed the right way? We control the entire chessboard.”
I lean forward, my voice dropping. “They made their move. Now we make ours. We take the port they rely on, we make it ours, and we remind them who holds the power in this country.” My gaze sweeps across the room. “Let them retaliate, so I can dismantle them piece by piece, until their empire is nothing but dust beneath my feet.”
Carbone exhales slowly, the weight of the conversation settling over him like a decision he already knows is inevitable. Across the table, Riccardo’s gaze sharpens, assessing, not just the risks but the advantage. Gallo swirls his drink, watching the way the light catches the amber liquid, his expression betraying nothing but quiet amusement, as if he’s already anticipating how this will unfold. Esposito leans back, fingers drumming against the table, restless but silent, the tension coiling in his stance. They may have their doubts, but they know the truth, I never move without certainty.
I push back my chair, the legs scraping against the polished floor, the sound cutting through the heavy silence. “This meetingis over. You all know what needs to be done. If anyone has second thoughts, speak now, or don’t speak at all.” My gaze sweeps across the room, cold and expectant. No one says a word. I straighten my suit, adjust my cuffs, and turn for the door. Mario follows, but my mind is already elsewhere. The weight of the meeting lingers, but it’s nothing compared to the thought creeping in, the one I can’t shake no matter how much I try. My wife. I clench my jaw, pushing the thought back, but it’s fucking useless. I reach for my phone, ready to pull up the surveillance feed, just to catch a glimpse of her, to know she’s there.
But I stop myself.
I need to fucking fight this. Not play into my obsession more.
By the time I step inside, the house is quiet, dimly lit with the kind of stillness that settles late into the evening.
I loosen my tie slightly as Bianca steps into view.
“Has Mattia dined yet?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “They’re having a late supper this evening. Mrs. Salvatore woke not too long ago, and they’re still enjoying their dessert in the garden.”
I nod and head towards them.
The closer I get, the sharper my focus becomes. The murmured conversation, the faint sound of laughter, it all weaves into the stillness of the night, grounding me in a way I didn’t anticipate.
As I approach, my steps slow. The table is elegantly set, bathed in the soft glow of the garden lights, their golden hue casting long, delicate shadows across the stone pathway. A picture of quiet serenity.
And there, seated with Mattia, laughing softly at something he said is Harlow.
My chest seizes, a slow, insidious pull I can’t ignore. Watching them like this, so at ease, so untouched by the worldbeyond these walls, stirs something deep, something primal. A need to protect them. To preserve this fragile peace at any cost.
This isn’t what I wanted and it’s not what I planned.
And yet, standing here, watching them, the weight in my ribs settles, an emotion I can’t place.
