Page 20

20

ENZO

I follow Luca through the back corridors of Callisto, his exclusive nightclub in the heart of the city. The main floor throbs with bass and bodies, but back here, everything is hushed opulence—thick carpet absorbing our footsteps, dim lighting that feels intentional rather than secretive.

There's only one guard posted at the door to Luca's private lounge—a calculated choice. Too many men draw attention; Luca Mantione prefers to appear unprotected though I know he's anything but. The guard nods at his boss, his eyes flicking to me with the briefest assessment before he steps aside.

"Your tech guy's already here," the guard murmurs, and Luca gives a barely perceptible nod.

The lounge feels like old money wrapped in modern taste—leather furniture in rich browns, a fully stocked bar gleaming with crystal decanters, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city, protected by one-way glass. The kind of place where serious decisions happen without anyone beyond these walls ever knowing.

Elliott Romano sits on one of the couches, his laptop balanced on his knees, fingers flying across the keyboard. He doesn't look up when we enter, which is either arrogance or focus. With Elliott, it's probably both.

"I hope that's worth the money I'm about to pay you," Luca says, voice smooth as the whiskey he pours himself at the bar.

Elliott finally looks up, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. "Depends what you consider valuable. Blackmail? Leverage? Evidence of corruption? Because I've got all of the above." His voice carries that particular cadence of someone who knows their worth to the minute detail.

I pour myself a drink and settle into an armchair, watching the exchange. Elliott might look like some harmless tech nerd with his unruly dark curls and lean frame, but there's something in his eyes that tells a different story. I've heard the rumors—he operates in the shadows between all the families, selling information to the highest bidder without ever truly belonging to anyone. Dangerous game. Impressive that he's still breathing.

"Show him," I say, impatient with the posturing.

Elliott's eyes shift to me, calculating and cool. "Enzo. Heard you've had an interesting few weeks." The corner of his mouth twitches up. "Family reunions can be a bitch."

I keep my expression flat. "The files."

He shrugs, turns his laptop around and focuses on Luca. "I've organized it by potential usefulness. Alfonso's been skimming from the Cappalletti treasury for years—probably to fund his side businesses that Giovanni doesn't know about. He's got three judges and a police captain on regular payroll."

Luca takes the laptop, scrolling with deliberate attention. It’s what I’ve already seen, with a little more thrown in, and I know it will be enough. The ice in his whiskey clinks as he takes a sip, his face betraying nothing. Those ice-blue eyes scan the information with mechanical efficiency.

"And here's where it gets interesting," Elliott continues, leaning forward. "Two of Giovanni's most trusted capos are in deep shit. One's got a cocaine habit that would impress a cartel boss, and the other likes to gamble away money that isn't his. Both are hiding it from the Don."

"This is everything?" Luca asks, his voice giving away nothing.

"And more. Bank accounts, dates, amounts. Even some recorded conversations—turns out these guys aren't exactly careful with their phones." Elliott's pride is evident, but not misplaced. This kind of intel takes skill.

Luca scrolls for another minute before nodding, seemingly satisfied. He passes the laptop back and reaches inside his perfectly tailored jacket, pulling out a thick envelope. The movement is casual, as if he's retrieving a business card instead of what I know is enough cash to buy a decent car.

"This should be what you and Enzo agreed on, plus a little extra," Luca says, placing the envelope on the coffee table between them. "For the expedited timeline."

Elliott grins, all sharp edges and satisfaction, as he tucks away both his laptop and the money. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mantione." He stands, slinging his messenger bag across his body. "Call me when you need something else impossible."

I watch Elliott stand, his posture relaxed yet somehow alert, like a predator who knows he's the most dangerous thing in any room. The way he moves tells me he knows exactly how valuable he is—to Luca, to me, to anyone who needs information in this city.

"No favor this time?" I raise a brow, leaning back in my chair with deliberate casualness. "That's new. Usually you're collecting debts like trading cards."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luca watching our exchange, his ice-blue gaze calculating. Nothing escapes that man—not even the subtle shift in dynamics between me and Romano.

Elliott's mouth curves into that infuriating grin of his, the one that says he knows something you don't. "You owe enough people already, Rossi." He adjusts his glasses with one finger. "Let's just say I'm investing in future goodwill."

I don't like the implications of that statement, but I keep my face neutral. Elliott Romano doesn't do anything without a reason, and his reasons usually cost something eventually.

"Smart investment," I reply, taking a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn coat my throat.

Elliott gives a two-finger salute as he heads for the door. "Always." The door closes behind him with a soft click that feels too final for my liking.

Luca sets his glass down, the crystal meeting the mahogany with precise control—everything about him is controlled, from his breathing to his violence. "Since when did you get so antagonistic with Romano?" His voice carries that familiar emptiness, like someone trying to mimic human curiosity without understanding the emotion.

I stand, straightening my jacket with a practiced hand. "I wasn't aware I needed your approval for how I speak to our associates."

Luca's face remains impassive. "You don't. I'm simply noting the change. You used to be more... diplomatic."

"Yeah, well." I drain the last of my drink. "Things change."

I move toward the door, mind already on my next move—how to use the information on Alfonso that Elliott provided, how to shore up my defenses against my brother's inevitable next attempt, how to expand my territory without stepping on too many Cappalletti toes.

"Enzo." Luca's voice stops me, hand on the doorknob. "Family issues aside, your position here is secure. Remember that."

Something in my chest tightens at his words—not gratitude, I don't do gratitude. Maybe recognition. Luca Mantione doesn't offer reassurance often. It's as close to loyalty as men like us get.

I give him a short nod and leave without another word.

The corridor feels cooler now, or maybe it's the weight of everything settling on my shoulders. My phone vibrates in my pocket as I make my way toward the exit. I pull it out, expecting one of my men with an update.

Kendra's name flashes on the screen.

My steps slow, then stop entirely. Kendra Washington doesn't call me—ever. Our arrangement has been strictly text-based, her pride too stubborn to give me the satisfaction of hearing her voice unless absolutely necessary. She's been ducking my calls since our deal was struck, keeping me at arm's length despite the invisible chain I've wrapped around her wrist.

I stare at the screen, something like interest stirring in my blood. Kendra calling means something's changed—and change usually means opportunity.

Whatever has driven her to break her own rule must be significant. The thought of her on the other end, probably pacing, probably cursing my name with those full lips—it brings a smile to my face that has nothing to do with business and everything to do with the game we've been playing.