The night was thick with tension, the silence of the Sicilian countryside broken only by the occasional chirp of crickets. Salvatore "Il Lupo" Conti stood in the grand dining hall of an abandoned villa, his sharp eyes fixed on his prey. The room was lit by a flickering chandelier, casting jagged shadows over the cracked walls. The air was heavy with the scent of old wood, gun oil, and fear.

Before him, bound to chairs and gagged, sat Enzo "The Viper" Moretti and his trusted enforcer, Carlo Bruni. The two men, once symbols of power in Sicily's underworld, now looked like broken dogs. Enzo's fine suit was torn and bloodstained, his once-groomed hair matted with sweat. Carlo, his hulking figure slumped and shaking, had a fresh gash across his forehead.

Salvatore circled them slowly, the click of his polished leather shoes on the stone floor echoing in the room. In his hand, he held a pristine straight razor, its blade gleaming under the dim light. It wasn't the gun or knife his enemies might have expected. Salvatore preferred tools that forced him to get close, to feel the finality of his actions.

"You made a mistake, Enzo," Salvatore began, his voice calm, almost conversational. "A grave mistake. You thought you could take what's mine—my shipments, my men, my name—and walk away untouched."

Enzo tried to speak, but the gag muffled his words into unintelligible groans. Salvatore smirked, leaning down to look Enzo in the eye. "Oh, you have something to say? Let's hear it."

He nodded to one of his men, who yanked the gag from Enzo's mouth. The rival boss coughed and gasped for air, blood dripping from the corner of his lips.

"You're a madman, Salvatore," Enzo spat, his voice hoarse but defiant. "You think you scare me? Kill me if you want, but someone else will come. You can't rule forever."

Salvatore chuckled, a low, sinister sound that sent chills through the room. "I don't need to rule forever, Enzo. Just long enough to make sure no one remembers you."

With a sudden, precise motion, Salvatore sliced the razor across Enzo's cheek. The blade bit deep, splitting flesh and releasing a stream of blood. Enzo screamed, thrashing against his bonds. Salvatore stood back, watching him writhe, a cold satisfaction glinting in his eyes.

"Do you feel that, Enzo? That's fear. That's what you took from my men when you tried to betray me. Now you'll learn what it means to cross Il Lupo."

Carlo, the enforcer, growled through his gag, his massive frame straining against the ropes. Salvatore turned his attention to him, walking over with deliberate slowness.

"Ah, Carlo," he said, almost affectionately. "The loyal dog. Tell me, did you enjoy beating my soldiers? Did it make you feel powerful?"

He signaled for Carlo's gag to be removed. The brute spit at Salvatore's feet. "You're a coward, Conti. Using ropes and blades. Face me like a man, and I'll snap your neck."

Salvatore's smile vanished he raised the razor and slashed it across Carlo's throat in one swift motion. Blood erupted from the wound, spraying Salvatore's tailored suit. Carlo's eyes widened in shock as he gurgled and choked, his life draining out of him.

Enzo screamed in terror, his earlier defiance crumbling. "Please! Please, Salvatore! I was wrong! I'll give it all back! The shipments, the men—everything!"

Salvatore turned back to him, wiping the blood from his razor with a white handkerchief. "It's too late for that, Enzo," he said softly. "You didn't just steal from me. You insulted me. And for that, there's only one punishment."

He approached Enzo, who was now shaking uncontrollably, his pleas devolving into incoherent sobs. Salvatore leaned in close, whispering in his ear.

"Don't worry, Enzo. I'll make sure your family knows exactly why you died."

And then he plunged the razor into Enzo's throat, slow and deliberate. The blade tore through muscle and cartilage, silencing his screams with a wet, gurgling choke. Salvatore held the rival boss's gaze as the light faded from his eyes.

When it was done, Salvatore stood back, surveying the carnage. Blood pooled around the chairs, staining the once-pristine marble floor. He handed the razor to one of his men, who took it with a nod.

"Clean this up," Salvatore ordered, straightening his jacket. "And spread the word: Il Lupo does not forgive."