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Up till now, I still didn’t know what had happened to make his health undergo a one-eighty-degree change, but with the expression on Dante’s face, I knew that he would find out, and knowing about his ties to the mafia, I knew it wouldn’t be a difficult task for him.
Dressed in a black suit accentuating his commanding presence, Dante stood stoically by his father's casket.
His face was a mask of composure, but I could see the conflict within his eyes.
The weight of his father's legacy now rested solely on his shoulders.
Standing beside him were two men I hadn’t seen before but judging by how close they stood to Dante, I could see that they were his close friends.
Aside from Dante's family and the two men I figured to be his friends, there were also many people I didn't know.
They were elegantly dressed, their expressions a mix of seriousness and respect.
I assumed they were important figures from the other mafia families Dante had spoken about, perhaps emissaries or representatives who had come to pay their respects and offer their condolences.
Their presence added an air of formality and tension to the already tense atmosphere.
It was clear that Salvatore's passing had sent ripples through the underworld, and while I didn't have a single idea of how the mafia was run, I doubted there was any genuine sadness over the man's passing.
These people were here out of obligation, part of a web of alliances and power dynamics that governed their world.
They were calculating and observing.
I couldn't help but feel a chill run down my spine as I glanced at these unfamiliar faces.
They exuded an aura of intrigue and danger, their guarded expressions hinting at hidden agendas and concealed intentions.
It was a stark reminder of the reality that surrounded Dante's life, a reality I had opted to stay out of.
The funeral proceedings came to an end without much fanfare, and I stood there, a silent observer amongst the hushed conversations and lingering sorrow.
My eyes followed Dante as his tall figure stood amongst his inner circle with his face a mask of blankness and determination.
He exchanged brief nods and murmurs with his trusted companions, a silent understanding passing between them.
Later, as if choreographed, Dante's people began to disperse, melting into the shadows with a sense of purpose.
Their movements were swift and precise.
It was clear that they had plans that did not include staying behind in the aftermath of the funeral.
I watched Dante, his steps confident and purposeful despite the passing of his father, as he led his group toward the waiting cars.
The emissaries from the other mafia families followed suit, falling into line behind Dante and his entourage.
Their expressions remained inscrutable, their eyes scanning the surroundings, ever vigilant.
A sense of anticipation tinged the air as the procession of cars pulled away, disappearing into the distance.
The funeral seemed to merely serve as a prelude to something more important.
The meeting of these influential people gathering under the pretense of paying respects hinted at a power play, a careful dance of alliances and negotiations.
As I stood there, the fading echoes of footsteps and car engines echoing in my ears, a surge of hesitation ran over me.
This made me see what I was saving myself from.
Dante’s world was an intricate web of mafia politics where trust was a rare commodity.
