Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

O ne week later

Massimo

I t was the calm before the storm.

I took a deep breath. Today, I was gearing up to meet with the Russos, a meeting I'd set up a few days ago that would either secure our position or push us further into a war that would decimate our world as we knew it.

I had chosen my attire carefully—a black suit, a crisp white shirt, no tie. I turned away from the window, adjusting the cufflinks on my shirt.

Every fiber of my being was on high alert. I needed to tread carefully. This entire meeting would be like a chess match, each move calculated, every word a potential weapon.

It was life or death.

I stepped out of the office, and Leo was waiting for me. He straightened, his eyes cold and deadly serious. I cocked my head and waited for him to speak.

"Everything's ready?" I asked, my voice calm, but laced with the underlying tension I couldn't fully shake.

"Security is tight. We've got eyes on all the entrances, and Stefano's running point outside," Leo replied, his tone clipped and professional.

I nodded, satisfied. "Good. Let's go."

We moved as a unit, heading down the marble staircase and out to the waiting cars. The drive to the meeting location was silent, the only sound the low hum of the engine. My mind was already on the meeting ahead, running through scenarios and countermoves before the first play was even made.

The Russos had chosen a neutral ground—a private estate on the outskirts of Florence, secluded and secure. I knew that it was a power play on their part, trying to set the stage on their terms. But I wasn't walking in blind. Every detail had been considered. My men had every angle analyzed. I would not be the one caught off guard.

When we arrived, a pair of Russo guards stood at the gate, their expressions unreadable as they waved us through. The drive up to the main house was lined with more men, all of them armed.

As we pulled up to the entrance, I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

This was it.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The room was dimly lit, with heavy curtains drawn to keep out the morning sun. The furniture was ornate, old-world Italian with dark wood and rich fabrics. It reeked of old money and old power. The Russos were a family steeped in tradition. They'd been around nearly as long as mine and everything in this house showcased that.

Antonio Russo, the kingpin of the Russo Sicilian mob, was already seated at the head of a long table, his presence commanding and dangerous. He was a man in his late fifties, with silver hair slicked back and a sharp, hawk-like face. His eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on me as soon as I entered the room.

Flanking him were his top men: Mario Russo, his son and heir, and Salvatore ‘Sal' Romano, his consigliere and enforcer. Mario was a younger version of his father—handsome, with dark hair and a cold, ruthless demeanor. Sal, on the other hand, was older, stocky, with a perpetual scowl etched into his face. He was a man of few words, but his reputation preceded him. He was ruthless in our world. Rumor had it he killed the previous consigliere with his two bare hands.

"Massimo," Antonio greeted, his voice smooth but laced with the venom of a snake ready to strike. "I trust the drive was pleasant?"

I offered a curt nod, my expression betraying nothing. "It was efficient."

Antonio's lips curled into a half-smile. "Good. Let's get down to business then, shall we?"

We took our seats, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Mario leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine, while Sal sat forward, his hands clasped on the table as if he were already anticipating violence straight from the get-go.

"I assume you know why we're here," I began, keeping my voice steady. "There's been some… misunderstandings recently. Misunderstandings that have put us on a path neither of us wants to be on."

Antonio raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Misunderstandings? I'm not sure I follow."

"Don't play games with me, Antonio," I snapped, my patience wearing thin. "Marco De Luca is rotting in a jail cell because of fabricated evidence. Evidence that leads straight back to your family."

Mario's eyes narrowed slightly, but Antonio remained calm, a smile playing on his lips. "You know as well as I do, Massimo, that in our world, people sometimes end up in unfortunate situations. It's not personal. It's business."

"Business or not, you're playing a dangerous game," I countered, leaning forward. "If you're looking to provoke me, you're doing a fine job of it. But know this—if you push me too far, there will be consequences. For all of us."

The room fell into an uneasy stillness, the air heavy with unspoken words. Antonio's smile faded, his eyes hardening. "We don't want war, Massimo."

"And if I decide to make your son here a casualty?" I asked coldly, my gaze shifting to the younger Russo. "Or Sal?"

Mario bristled at the threat, but Antonio raised a hand, silencing him. "Careful, Massimo. Threats like that can quickly escalate into something neither of us can control."

"This isn't a threat," I said, my voice deadly calm. "It's a promise. If you don't back off, if you don't clear Marco's name and stay out of my affairs, you'll regret it. I'll make sure of it myself."

Antonio studied me for a long moment, the room silent. Finally, he leaned back, a smirk curling his lips. "Consider your message received. But don't think for a moment that this is over."

"It's only over when I say it is," I replied. "Remember that."

I got up and turned to leave, my eyes sweeping over the room one last time, taking in the tense faces of Mario and Sal. But as I took a step, I noticed something—a flicker of something almost imperceptible in Antonio's expression; a hesitation, perhaps, that made me pause, like he was holding back and had more to say but was weighing the consequences of whether or not he should say it.

I stopped, turning slightly to face him again. "What is it, Antonio? You have something else to add?"

Antonio's smirk faded, replaced by a more measured, calculating look. "You're right about one thing, Massimo," he said slowly. "Someone is playing a dangerous game. But it's not just your organization that's been hit. We've had our own… complications recently."

I didn't move, didn't react immediately, but inside, my mind was racing. Complications? The Russos were rarely on the defensive; they were always the ones making the first move. For them to admit to having issues meant whatever was happening was pretty fucking serious.

"Complications?" I repeated, keeping my tone even. "Like what?"

Antonio leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Certain shipments have gone missing, high-value ones. And we've had a few… misunderstandings with some of our business partners. It's not our style to lose control like this, Massimo. And we assumed you were behind it."

"You thought I was undermining you?" I asked, a touch of incredulity in my voice.

Mario, who had been quietly observing, spoke up, his tone sharp. "Who else could it be? You've been the only other player in the game with the resources and the motive to hit us where it hurts."

I didn't flinch. "If I wanted to hit you, you'd know it. I wouldn't be sneaking around, taking bites out of your operations. I'd come at you head-on."

Antonio's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered my words, and for the first time, I saw a hint of uncertainty in his gaze.

"Then who?" Sal muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "Who the hell has the balls to come after both of us?"

The tension remained high, but it was now laced with a mutual recognition of a shared threat. Whoever was orchestrating these moves had managed to pit two of the most powerful families against each other, and that realization was not sitting well with anyone in the room.

I slowly sat back down, leaning forward with a grim expression. "If someone's trying to destabilize both our organizations, that's a problem for all of us. We need to find out who's behind this before it escalates into something we can't control."

Antonio's gaze locked onto mine, his earlier smugness gone, replaced by the seriousness of the situation. "I don't like being manipulated, Massimo. If what you're saying is true, then we've both been played."

"None of us do, Antonio," I replied, my tone deadly serious. "This isn't just about you or me anymore. If we don't figure out who's pulling the strings, we're both going to lose a hell of a lot more than just money."

The room was silent, the gravity of the situation settling over everyone. Mario shifted in his seat, his expression a mix of suspicion and reluctant acceptance. Sal's scowl deepened, but even he couldn't deny the logic in my words.

"So, what's the plan, then?" Mario asked, his voice a mix of frustration and curiosity. "You suggesting we work together?"

I glanced at Antonio, reading the icy calculation in his eyes. This was a delicate balance; the very idea of collaboration between our families was fraught with risks, but the alternative was worse. We couldn't let whoever was behind this continue to gain the upper hand while we tore each other apart.

"We don't have to like each other," I said steadily. "But we need to stop this before it's too late. We find out who's behind it, we take them down, and then we go back to business as usual."

Antonio nodded slowly, a flicker of something almost like respect passing through his eyes. "Agreed. But make no mistake, Massimo—once this is over, we're still enemies."

I allowed myself a thin smile. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Antonio leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. "If we're going to work together on this, we need to be honest with each other. No more games. Tell me what's been happening on your side, and I'll do the same."

I nodded, recognizing the importance of full disclosure in this moment. "My laundering operation at Marco's tailor shop was compromised. Someone planted fabricated evidence, and now Marco's rotting in a cell. It's too coordinated to be a coincidence. Someone wants to undermine me, and they're using Marco to do it."

Mario exchanged a glance with his father, the tension between them palpable. "We've been dealing with something similar," he admitted. "First, a few shipments disappeared, valuable ones. Then our contacts in the port city suddenly became unreliable. We lost a major deal because of it, and it wasn't because of incompetence. Someone made sure we were completely out of the loop."

Antonio's eyes darkened as he continued. "A few weeks ago, one of our best men turned up dead. It was made to look like an accident, but the timing was too perfect. He was close to exposing a leak in our operations. Whoever is behind this is smart, Massimo. They're hitting us where it hurts, but they're doing it in a way that keeps us looking at each other as the enemy."

"Divide and conquer," I muttered, the pieces falling into place. "Keep us focused on each other while they move in the shadows."

Sal spoke up, his voice gruff. "We've also noticed unusual activity near our borders, like someone's testing our defenses. They're looking for weaknesses, trying to find a way in. We've tightened security, but it's clear they're planning something bigger."

Antonio's gaze was sharp, calculating. "If we're both being targeted, then this isn't just about taking down one of us. They want to dismantle both families, piece by piece."

"Agreed," I said. "But the question is who's behind it? There aren't many players with the resources and the guts to pull something like this off."

Mario frowned, thinking aloud. "It's not the smaller families; they don't have the reach. And it's not one of our allies—they wouldn't risk open war between our families. That leaves someone new, or someone we've overlooked."

"Or someone with a grudge," Sal added, his tone dark.

Antonio leaned back in his chair. "We need to start with the ones who have the most to gain from our downfall. Look into your networks, Massimo. Find out who's been moving against you, and we'll do the same. We share whatever we find."

I nodded, the plan taking shape in my mind. "Agreed. We start by tightening our defenses and cutting off any potential leaks. Then we follow the money—whoever is orchestrating this is paying a lot of cash to keep us in the dark. That kind of money leaves a trail."

Antonio's lips curled into a thin smile, devoid of any warmth. "For now, we keep this between us. Our men need to know we're on top of this, that we're not being played. We can't show any weakness."

"Understood," I said, rising from my chair. "We'll regroup once we have more information. But make no mistake, Antonio—this alliance ends the moment we find out who's behind this."

"Of course," he replied, standing as well. "And when that moment comes, we'll settle our score."

Mario and Sal stood as well, their gazes locked on mine, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

Antonio held out his hand and I shook it.

This truce was temporary, born out of necessity rather than trust. But for now, it would have to be enough.