Containers stacked like tombstones.
Cranes frozen mid-motion like steel giants asleep at their posts. From a distance, it looked peaceful—orderly, quiet. The kind of place that could almost fool you into thinking it was just another port, just another piece of the city’s infrastructure.
But I knew better.
I knew what was buried under those stacks of steel. What had been smuggled in and out of this place for decades. The deals made in the shadows. The blood spilled between the cracks in the pavement.
I rolled the window down slightly, letting the salt air cut through the lingering scent of gunpowder and sweat. The breeze was cool, but it didn’t clear my head. Nothing would. Not tonight.
“Slow down,” I told the driver.
He eased off the gas, and we coasted along the outer edge of the port. My eyes scanned the fences, the gates, the towers. My men were out there—watching, waiting. Always on alert. Always ready.
But even with all that, we’d still missed it.
Giovanni had betrayed us. Quietly. Methodically. And I’d missed it.
That was on me.
I closed my eyes for a moment, leaning my head back against the seat. The faint hum of the tires on the asphalt vibrated through my chest, but it didn’t settle the storm inside me.
I could still hear the shot.
Still see the way his body slumped forward, lifeless, the blood pooling beneath him.
Still feel the weight of the gun in my hand.
I didn’t regret it.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
Giovanni had been family once. He’d taught me how to bluff in poker when I was fourteen. Taught me how to keep a straight face, even when I wanted to fold. He used to bring me pastries from his wife’s bakery, slipping me an extra cannoli when my father wasn’t looking.
And he’d lied to me.
I opened my eyes, staring out at the stacks of containers as we passed them. They loomed in the darkness, casting long shadows beneath the floodlights.
Dante trusted me to handle the city while he and his wife were away on their extravagant honeymoon.
And I would.
By the time we reached the estate, the sun was just starting to rise. The sky was painted in soft pinks and oranges, the kind of morning that makes you believe in second chances.
But I didn’t believe in that shit. Not anymore.
I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes. The guards at the gate nodded as I approached, their eyes sharp but silent. They didn’t say anything as they opened the doors and let me through.
Inside, the house was quiet. Most of the staff was still asleep, the early hour wrapping the estate in a kind of stillness that felt both comforting and suffocating.
The only sound was the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer and the distant hum of the espresso machine warming up in the kitchen.
I didn’t go to the kitchen.
I went to the study.
I needed to think. To plan. To figure out who else had been whispering in the dark.
Because Giovanni hadn’t acted alone.
