Page 4 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

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The sleek black car sliced through morning traffic. Inside, three of the most powerful men in the city sat in contemplative silence, each preparing for the summit in their own way.

Anders Knight straightened his platinum cuff links, his ice-blue eyes scanning the traffic patterns around them.

At thirty-five, he had built the Trinity Syndicate from nothing into an empire that commanded respect across the criminal landscape.

His striking features remained impassive, betraying nothing of the calculations running through his mind.

“The Corsini delegation will push for access to the harbor district,” he stated, breaking the silence. “They’ve been moving shipments through Vitale’s channels at a premium. They’ll want direct access.”

Beside him, Conall O’Reilly’s lips curved into a knowing smile. At thirty-four, his understanding of human nature made him invaluable in negotiations. His vivid green eyes held a glint of amusement.

“They’ll lead with something outrageous first—probably demand a piece of our casino operations,” Conall predicted, running a hand through his dark waves. “Classic misdirection. Make us feel relieved when they ‘settle’ for what they actually wanted all along.”

From the opposite seat, Wyatt Slater observed in silence. At thirty-three, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who had seen the worst of humanity and remained unimpressed. His stormy gray eyes never stopped moving, scanning every vehicle that came too close to their convoy.

“Enzo,” Wyatt stated, the single name carrying all the warning his brothers needed.

Anders nodded once, acknowledging the observation. “Enzo Corsini is ambitious. But ambition without patience is just recklessness.”

“He’s not alone in that ambition,” Conall added, his expression sobering. “His brother Dante has been systematically targeting our digital infrastructure. Clever attacks. Almost got through our security protocols twice last month.”

The three men fell silent as their driver navigated onto the private road leading to the Montecito Hotel.

Anders glanced at his sworn brothers, feeling the familiar surge of pride at how far they’d come.

From three orphaned boys fighting for scraps in the eastern slums to the most feared trinity in the criminal world.

They’d sworn their blood oath at sixteen, after surviving the gang war that had claimed what remained of their families.

“Brothers in blood and purpose until death,” had been their vow, sealed with knife cuts across their palms that had left matching scars none of them bothered to hide.

That oath had carried them through the brutal climb to power, through betrayals and victories, through the founding of the Trinity Syndicate and its rise to prominence.

The Montecito would now host representatives from all three major syndicates for the first time in three years.

The last summit had ended in bloodshed when a minor family had attempted to assassinate the Vitale leadership.

The resulting war had reshaped the city’s criminal landscape, with the Trinity Syndicate emerging as a dominant force alongside the Vitales—another victory for the three sworn brothers who had survived far worse than political machinations.

“Two cars ahead, two behind,” Wyatt said as they approached the hotel’s entrance, his economy of words typical of his communication style.

Anders straightened his tie, a gesture of preparation rather than nervousness. “Remember, we observe the old protocols. No weapons in the meeting room, but?—”

“—but always be armed,” Conall finished with a grim smile, patting the inside of his tailored jacket where a ceramic knife rested, undetectable to metal scanners.

The car pulled up to the entrance, where men in dark suits stood at attention. To the untrained eye, they might have appeared to be hotel security. Anders recognized them immediately as Vitale’s elite guards.

“Showtime,” Conall murmured as their driver opened the door.

The three men emerged from the vehicle, their movements synchronized from years of working together. Despite their different builds—Anders broad and imposing, Conall athletic and lithe, Wyatt lean and coiled—they moved as a single unit, a trinity of power that commanded immediate attention.

The hotel lobby fell silent as they entered, conversations dying mid-sentence.

Even in a gathering of the city’s most dangerous criminals, the Trinity Syndicate leaders stood apart.

It wasn’t just their custom-tailored suits or their confident strides, it was the aura of controlled power that surrounded them, the unmistakable presence of apex alphas who had clawed their way to the top and intended to stay there.

A slim man with silver-streaked hair approached, offering a respectful nod. “Mr. Knight, Mr. O’Reilly, Mr. Slater. The others are assembled in the Venezia Room. If you’ll follow me.”

As they walked through the opulent corridors, Anders noted the strategic placement of security personnel, cataloging faces and positions.

Beside him, Conall smiled pleasantly at a passing server, his charm masking his own assessment of potential threats.

Wyatt maintained his position slightly behind them, his back never fully exposed to any doorway or corridor.

Where his brothers assessed with words and charm, he evaluated through observation, his stormy eyes cataloging every potential threat.

The Venezia Room’s massive double doors stood open, revealing a large oval table surrounded by men whose combined influence controlled everything from city politics to international shipping lanes.

At the head of the table sat Stefano Vitale, his dark hair and aristocratic features giving him the appearance of a renaissance painting come to life.

Though only thirty-six, he carried himself with the authority of someone born to rule.

Beside him sat Matteo Romano, his amber eyes watchful and calculating as they swept over the new arrivals.

Marco Vitale, Stefano’s younger brother, stood by the window, his posture relaxed but alert.

At thirty-one, he was already known for his diplomatic skill and strategic mind.

Unlike his brother’s traditional approach, Marco embraced modern methods, making him both an asset and occasional source of tension within the Vitale hierarchy.

On the opposite side of the table, Enzo Corsini watched the Trinity’s entrance with undisguised interest. At thirty-six, he had inherited his father’s criminal empire and expanded it with ruthless efficiency, a coldly pragmatic leader whose territory grew more expansive by the month.

His dark-blue eyes held a predatory gleam as they locked with Anders’.

Beside him, his brother Dante appeared absorbed in his tablet, but Anders wasn’t fooled.

At thirty-four, Dante Corsini was perhaps the most dangerous kind of criminal, one who understood technology better than people.

His intelligence had transformed the Corsini operations, bringing them into the digital age with sophisticated systems for money laundering and surveillance.

Completing the Corsini trio was Alessio Corsini, standing behind Enzo’s chair like a sentinel.

His muscled frame and combat-ready posture told the story of a man trained from childhood to be the family’s enforcer.

At thirty-three, he commanded absolute loyalty from the syndicate’s soldiers and maintained the family’s fearsome reputation on the streets.

“The Trinity arrives,” Stefano announced, rising to his feet. “Now we can begin.”

Anders inclined his head slightly, a gesture of respect but not submission. The relationship between the Trinity Syndicate and the Vitale Brotherhood was complex; they were neither enemies nor allies, but rather two powers maintaining a careful balance.

“Stefano,” Anders acknowledged, his deep voice carrying easily across the room. “Matteo. Marco.” His gaze swept over the assembled leaders, pausing briefly on Enzo Corsini. “Gentlemen.”

The Trinity took their designated seats, forming their own power triangle within the larger assembly.

Anders sat directly across from Stefano, a strategic position that wasn’t lost on anyone present.

Conall settled to his right, his posture relaxed but alert, while Wyatt took the left, his back to the wall with a clear view of both exits.

His silence spoke volumes in a room where power was typically measured in words.

“Before we address the agenda,” Stefano began, his voice carrying the refined edge of old money and classical education, “I believe congratulations are in order. The Trinity Syndicate’s expansion into the tech sector has been impressive.”

The words carried a double meaning that everyone present understood. The “tech sector” referred to the Trinity’s sophisticated new money laundering operation that had recently absorbed several smaller operations.

“Innovation is necessary for survival,” Anders replied smoothly. “As is adaptation.”

Matteo leaned forward slightly, his amber eyes narrowing. “Indeed. Though some might argue that rapid expansion creates vulnerabilities.”

Conall smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Only if one lacks the resources to secure what they claim.”

From his position by the window, Marco Vitale chuckled softly. “Always so direct, the Trinity. It’s refreshing in its way.” He moved to take his seat beside his brother. “Perhaps we should discuss the harbor situation before tensions rise further.”

Enzo Corsini’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “By all means, let’s discuss the harbor. Particularly the eastern docks that have remained underutilized by current management.”

“Underutilized is a matter of perspective,” Wyatt countered, his tone carrying an edge of steel despite the brevity of his response.