Luca's smile faltered for a second. Not long. But enough.
"He was a loyal man. Worked customs in Palermo under my father. Clean on the books. Unremarkable. Easy to forget." I paused watching his gaze flicker with unease.
"Until you handed my father a name and called it a favor. Told him Valerio was selling out our routes. That he was yours before he was ours."
I leaned forward, slow, steady. My elbows pressed into my knees.
"I was twenty-four. Fresh into uniform. I wasn't supposed to be in Sicily that week. But I was the one who dragged Valerio into that fire."
That knocked the smirk right off his face.
"So if you're calling this—" I gestured to the paper offer, to the champagne, to the tacky opulence of the room, "—another favor… you should remember what the last one cost you."
The silence that followed wasn't tense. It was dead. One of his men behind him shifted like he couldn't breathe in it. Luca recovered, barely. Slathered a grin over the panic.
