Enzo POV
The room is dimly lit, the kind of dark that allows you to fade into the shadows and listen more than speak. I sit at the end of a long, mahogany table, Donnie to my right, and three other made men from the families spread out around us. The air is thick with smoke from the cigars that the old men insist on puffing throughout every meeting. It’s suffocating, like breathing in betrayal, and I've long grown used to the feeling.
The conversation revolves around territory and money—control of the docks in Jersey, a new shipment coming in from Sicily, the usual. But I'm only half-listening. My mind keeps drifting back to Mia—her tear-stained face at the funeral, the way she fell apart in my arms behind that oak tree. It’s been days since I’ve seen her, but I’ve had to force myself to
