Leonardo
The faint hum of the chandelier above us fills the quiet tension in the room. Five of us sit around the long mahogany table, cigarette smoke curling in the air, the sharp scent of whiskey lingering between untouched glasses.
Sergio Morova leans forward first, his fingers drumming against the polished surface. “The intel from my man says Falcone’s been using the east dock warehouse for something off record. They’re calling it a ‘government supply chain’ project. Bullshit, if you ask me.”
Dante Therego scoffs, his dark eyes flicking between us. “It’s more than that. That warehouse has more guards than a damn fortress. You don’t hire ex-military to babysit boxes, do you?.”
I rest back in my chair, watching them argue. “You’re both right,” I say finally, my voice cutting through t
