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Marcello scoffs. "Yeah. And dear old dad is so busy with his trial, he hasn’t done a damn thing to put the bastards back in their place."

"There’s no love lost between Marcello and his father," Stephano adds from the bar, pouring three glasses of whiskey.

I’ve heard rumors about that. Marcello didn’t return from exile because he missed his old man. He came back because he was summoned after Angelo's death. A death I'm not uninvolved in.

"Alright," I say, stepping forward and taking the offered drink. "I’m listening."

With the drink in my hand, I take a seat, noticing that Marcello has relaxed slightly, but there’s still an edge to him.

"Looks like Edoardo has successfully made us all distrust one another," Stephano observes, looking between us.

"Let’s put a stop to it," I say, setting my glass down with a deliberate thud.

Marcello nods. "Let’s."

I hold out my hand, and we shake on it. Marcello leans back. "I’m counting on dear old dad being in jail in a few weeks. Once he’s gone, I will start fixing the mess he’s made."

"No worries on that end. I’ve got it handled," I assure him, unwilling to say more. I might be willing to listen, but I don’t trust them enough to lay out my whole plan.

Marcello lifts his glass in a silent toast. "Good. Once he’s out of the picture, I’ll get Hendricks back in line and the Venezuelans handled."

Stephano clears his throat. "And what about Edoardo?"

I smirk. "The only family supporting him is Enrico’s father… and yours."

Stephano exhales, his mouth tightening. "My father isn’t thrilled about the idea of overthrowing Edoardo. He’s old school. But he’ll support us. I’ll make sure of it."

"So, it’s us against Edoardo," Marcello muses.

Stephano nods. "He still has minor families backing him."

“None of them matter,” I say flatly. Ricci, Cavallo, Romano—they’ve got connections, sure, but they’re not a threat. The real power sits with us: DeLuna, Sartori, Giordano, Conti, and Orsi. We’re the ones who decide how this plays out. The rest will either fall in line… or end up like the Giordanos.

Roberto better pick the right side.

Or he’ll share his father’s fate.

Stephano sips his whiskey, nodding in agreement. "Let’s make sure Carlos goes to jail first."

I lean forward slightly. "We should also check on the Venezuelans. This is the second time they’ve popped up on our radar in a matter of days. That’s not a fucking coincidence."

Marcello and Stephano exchange a look before Stephano shakes his head. "No. I had a run-in with them about a month ago. Caught some of their guys poaching on our territory. Naturally, I took care of it. Next thing I know, Edoardo calls dad into his office and in not so many words told him to tell me to back the fuck off."

I sit up straighter. That gets my attention. "Back off from defending your fucking territory?"

He finishes his drink, looking darkly into his now-empty glass. A grunt escapes him that sums up his frustration.

"And you listened?"

His eyes flash. "I listened to my father, who told me to inform you."

That’s not an answer. That’s a diplomatic way of sayinghe wasn’t in a position to argue.

"What exactly did Edoardo say?"

Stephano puts the glass down. "He said the Venezuelans aren’t our problem. That ‘certain business arrangements’ were already in place."

A heavy silence stretches between us before Marcello swears under his breath. He already knows where this is going, just like I do.