Page 98 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

Marco steps forward and nudges the cloth with the edge of the glass. "Where’d you find it?"

"Tucked under the desk." I sit down. "It’s from the old Sicily runs."

Luca finally lifts the strip, unfolds it.

The green is faded now, but the stitching’s still distinct.

His jaw tightens.

"I know that seal," he mutters. "We used it for high-value transfers. Priority routes. Internal eyes only."

I nod.

"Then someone’s watching those routes again."

"Not someone," Marco says. "Someones."

Luca walks to the far cabinet, unlocks the drawer that stays closed unless things are already sliding sideways.

He pulls out a newer file.

Thin, but not empty.

He lays it flat.

The top page shows a symbol I’ve never seen.

Crude, black-inked, spray-painted across a chain-link fence in what looks like the south district.

A serpent wrapped around a bleeding heart.

Beneath it, a single name.

Il Sangue Nero.

I lean back in my chair.

"We’ve been hearing whispers for weeks," Marco says. "Crews folding too fast. Turf going quiet instead of bloody. No names. No faces. Just clean disruptions."

"Not police?"

"No pattern. No warrants. No contact with narcotics or customs. And no product showing up on the street." He glances at Luca. "It’s surgical."

Luca closes the folder.

"They’re building something. Quietly. Efficiently. Like they’ve done it before."

I look at him. "And you’re only telling me now."

"We didn’t have proof until today," he says.

I nod toward the cloth. "So what is this?"

Luca meets my gaze.

"Proof that whoever’s behind this knows our history. Our tactics. Our internal routes."

The implications settle.