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This deserted corner of the sprawling shipping port, hidden away from prying eyes, is the perfect place for a clandestine meeting such as this. Not even the cry of drifting gulls disturbs the heavy silence that settles heavily upon my shoulders, weighting them down with the burden of responsibility. So much rests on the outcome of tonight — the future of my family, our sovereignty in this city’s volatile underground.
I glance at my watch, its luminous hands relentlessly ticking down to the fateful hour. Lorenzo meets my gaze, one thick brow raised in silent query. His eyes seem to ask, ‘Are you sure about this?’ I answer him with a terse nod, pushing down my own mounting doubts. We have no choice now but to see this through. The intricate plan has been set carefully in motion by my hand, the players now moving deliberately into position according to my design. All that's left is to play out the endgame and see where the pieces fall.
The deal tonight is bigger than anything we've attempted before, the highest of stakes. A dozen of the major players in the underground arms trade from across the city and beyond, all converging here for one massive, coordinated transaction. Guns, missiles, grenades — enough firepower to start a small war. It should have been a triumph, cementing the Ricci family’s long coveted status as the undisputed major power players in the New York criminal underworld. Instead, I can't stay focused.
All because of her. Clara.
Pietro claps a huge hand down firmly on my shoulder, jolting me from the circling thoughts of her that plague my mind. I look up into his familiar face, taking in his knowing expression, and am unable to meet his piercing gaze. "You look like you've seen a ghost, brother," he rumbles, voice low and gravelly with concern. "What's the matter?"
I force my lips into what I hope resembles a smile, but feels more like a grimace. "Just anxious to get this over with," I reply, though it's only a half-truth at best. My nerves are strung as taut as a violin's strings.
Lorenzo makes a derisive noise and casts me a look filled with shrewd perception, his dark eyes all-seeing. He's always been uncannily adept at seeing straight through any charade I try to maintain. "This isn't just about the deal," he surmises knowingly. "It's her, isn't it?"
Giovanni sidles up beside me, resting a steadying hand on my shoulder, his touch light but solid. Of all my brothers, he has always been the most perceptive, reading the subtle nuances in a person with uncanny accuracy. He leans in close, his low voice a warm rumble in my ear. "You're still worried if she talked to the Ferraros, aren't you?" he asks gently, voicing the ugly suspicion that's been gnawing relentlessly at my insides like a rabid dog.
I hesitate, hating to give voice to the doubts that have plagued me that I've tried so desperately to ignore. To speak them aloud would be to give credence to the horrific possibility that she may have betrayed us. I don't want to admit, even to myself, just how deeply she's burrowed under my skin and occupied my every thought.
"I know she talked to the Ferraros," I admit grudgingly. "The men I sent with her to the spa said that Roberto Ferraro showed up and spoke with her privately for over twenty minutes." Just the memory of it makes hot anger and jealousy scald the inside of my chest.
"Doesn't mean she said anything though," Giovanni argues gently, ever the optimist. But I can no longer maintain such hopeful delusions.
"When she came home, she was more upset than I've ever seen her. Guilt was written all over her face." I press the heels of my hands hard against my eyes as if I could force the imagery from my mind’s eye. "The only consolation is that Dante is almost certain our planted information is the only plans that could have leaked. He thinks if she said anything, it was too vague to compromise us."
Across the inky water, in a darkened corner of an empty warehouse several miles away, another staged deal is about to take place under Rafael and Dante's watchful eyes. All an elaborate ruse to trap the Ferraro family using the fake information we planted for Clara to find.
If she talked, then we have the Ferraros right where we want them. It will kickstart an all-out war between our families that could fracture the delicate balance of power in this city for years to come.
And Clara's betrayal... My stomach clenches painfully at the thought. That betrayal will have to be dealt with, for the sake of the family, if nothing else. The possible repercussions of her actions could destroy us all.
My fingers itch compulsively to call Rafael, to check on the progress of their staged deal and gauge if the Ferraros have taken the bait. But I force myself, with immense willpower, to wait and maintain my patience. Timing, as always in this business, is everything. One misstep could unravel this intricate web I've spent weeks weaving.
"You're thinking about calling it off, aren't you?" Lorenzo's sharp voice cuts through my thoughts, his tone low and grim. I meet his steely gaze and am disarmed by the naked concern writ plainly across his hardened features. He knows me too well.
I rake both hands roughly through my hair in frustration, clenching my jaw until my teeth ache. "Dante is sure she didn't know anything about the real deal here tonight, so she couldn't have leaked it," I answer slowly, weighing each word. "But I want us to stay on guard. If anything seems off..."
"What will you do if she didn't actually betray you?" Giovanni interjects gently, catching my eye. "If she's proven herself true after all, you'll destroy everything between you over nothing but fear and doubt."
His piercing words twist in my gut like a hot knife. As usual, he sees straight to the murky heart of the matter. I exhale a shaky breath, my resolve wavering. "It's a necessary risk I have to take for all our sakes," I say, though it comes out as more of a plea than the commanding tone I had intended. My brothers' lives and futures hang in the balance just as much as my own heart does tonight.
For a long moment, Pietro, Lorenzo and Giovanni are silent, nothing but doubt and tension hanging thickly in the air between us. I've led them through countless dangers before this.
Finally, Pietro sighs heavily, clapping a firm hand onto my shoulder once more as resignation settles over his handsome features. "We trust your judgment, Antonio," he rumbles gravely.
I reach up to grasp his beefy forearm gratefully, feeling a surge of relief flood through me at their show of support. However this dangerous gamble plays out, my brothers will stand resolutely behind me, as they always have. "I'll make this right, no matter what happens," I vow to them solemnly.
Headlights flash suddenly in the distance as a convoy of bulky cargo trucks rumbles noisily toward the docks, engines roaring. It's time. I straighten my shoulders resolutely beneath my coat, brushing away any lingering doubts. Tonight, I will lead and the pieces will fall where they may.
"Rafael's team just checked in," Lorenzo says quietly at my side, holding out his ringing cell phone for me to take. "They report that the players have started arriving at the warehouse and are ready to proceed with the staged deal according to plan on your word."
My hand trembles ever so slightly as I reach to accept the phone from him. I take a steadying breath to calm my frayed nerves before answering it. "Rafael, proceed as planned. It's time."
Giovanni catches my gaze meaningfully and grips my shoulder in a show of solidarity. "When this is over, make it right with her," he murmurs sincerely. "She deserves at least that much from you."
I nod in agreement, unable to find my voice past the tight knot of anxiety lodged stubbornly in my throat. First, we must survive this dangerous night. Then, God willing, I will see how Clara will need to be dealt with — either as our betrayer or asking for her forgiveness.
Steeling myself, I turn to face the rumbling convoy as the trucks roll to a lurching halt beside us, cutting beams of light through the darkness. I recognize most of the men emerging gruffly from the vehicles – the Morales cartel, our new prospective business partners. Their ranks part as a tall, imposing figure strides purposefully toward me. Mr. Santiago, head of their entire operation. I force my lips into what I pray resembles a smile and extend my hand in greeting.
"Mr. Santiago, a pleasure," I say smoothly, grasping his calloused hand in a firm handshake.
