The Giancarlo’s
The room still smelled of gunpowder and sweat. Failure always did.
Luca Giancarlo stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out over the waking city. The skyline shimmered in the morning haze — sharp, beautiful, oblivious. Beneath it all, his empire simmered like a living thing, pulsing with movement, money, and blood.
Behind him, Nico shifted uneasily. No one spoke unless Luca invited it. The weight of silence was part of the punishment.
When he finally turned, his expression was composed, but his eyes — those cold, calculating eyes — burned with quiet fury.
“You let them escape,” he said softly. “You still fools.”
Marco swallowed hard. “We didn’t expect Frank to move so fast, boss. He must’ve had men nearby—”
Luca raised a hand. The man fell s
