Vito Moretti sauntered into the grand hall, expecting the usual hushed reverence that greeted his arrival. Instead, hostile glares and cold shoulders met him like a brick wall. Low jeers and mocking whispers revealed his standing had cratered overnight among the mafia lords.
Even the foreign mafia heads from overseas eyed him with unveiled contempt. Vito's gut twisted queasily, sensing something had gone horribly awry. But he swallowed down his unease and took his seat at the head of the table, as was his rightful place as chairman.
Yet rather than deferring to him to lead the meeting, the other lords pointedly ignored Vito, conversing casually among themselves until Lord Vicenzo rapped his gaudy ring sharply on the table.
"Let us begin," Vicenzo declared imperiously, launching into various business without so much as glancing at Vito. Confused and affronted, Vito bit his tongue and waited for his turn to speak, toes tapping impatiently.
