The Greco family had always operated in the shadows, their influence creeping silently through the underworld like ivy on a forgotten wall. Unlike the larger, flashier mafia families, the Grecos thrived on subtlety, preferring to stay off the radar while building their empire. Their roots stretched deep into Naples, but their ambitions extended far beyond the borders of Italy.
At the head of the family sat Antonio Greco, a man who had mastered the art of playing puppet master behind the scenes. He was a shadow in his own right, a figure whose mere name sent ripples of fear and respect through those who dared speak it. Antonio didn't crave attention. He craved control. And he was dangerously good at getting it.
Tonight, Antonio sat at a long wooden table in the family's lavish estate on the outskirts of Naples. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of chandeliers casting shadows against the intricately carved walls. The air was thick with the scent of cigars and the low murmur of conversation among the men seated around him.
The room was full of his most trusted men—his soldiers, his advisers, and, most importantly, his son, Matteo. The heir to the Greco legacy, Matteo Greco was everything his father had molded him to be: ruthless, calculating, and fiercely loyal to the family's interests. He sat beside his father now, his sharp eyes scanning the room with the same quiet intensity that Antonio was known for.
Antonio took a slow drag from his cigar, the smoke curling upward as he exhaled. His gaze swept across the table, landing on each man in turn before he finally spoke.
"The time has come," Antonio said, his voice low but commanding. "The Grecos have been patient long enough. Salvatore De Luca has ruled over New York for years, uncontested. But his power is weakening, and now is our opportunity to strike."
The men around the table exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and unease. Everyone knew that challenging Salvatore De Luca would be no small feat. The De Luca family had deep roots in New York, and Salvatore's influence stretched across every corner of the city. But the Grecos were not the type to shy away from a challenge.
Matteo leaned forward, his voice cutting through the silence. "What's our next move, Father?"
Antonio flicked the ash from his cigar, his gaze narrowing. "We begin by testing his defenses. We push his allies, cut off his resources, and send a message that the Grecos are no longer content with staying in the shadows."
One of the men, a grizzled veteran named Carmine, cleared his throat. "Salvatore's capo, Marco, is fiercely loyal. He's a soldier through and through. Going after him could provoke a war."
Antonio's lips curled into a cold smile. "Good. Let them come. Salvatore is too comfortable. He's grown complacent. He won't see us coming."
Matteo nodded in agreement. "We've already started putting pressure on his contacts in the shipping business. If we can disrupt his supply lines, it will send a clear message."
Antonio's gaze shifted to another man seated at the far end of the table. "And the Americans? What's their response?"
The man, Vito, nodded grimly. "There's some chatter, but nothing concrete yet. Salvatore doesn't seem to realize the full extent of our reach. He'll soon learn."
Antonio leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good. Let them think we're still playing the same game. By the time they realize the rules have changed, it'll be too late."
Matteo's expression darkened slightly as he spoke again. "There is, however, the issue of Luciano. He's already shown signs of aggression toward us. He could complicate things if he decides to make a move before we're ready."
Antonio's smile faded, his jaw tightening. Luciano Vitale was another thorn in his side—a rival who had been growing bolder in recent months. While not as powerful as the De Lucas, Luciano's ambition was dangerous. He was unpredictable, and that made him a threat.
"We'll deal with Luciano when the time comes," Antonio said, his voice cold. "For now, our focus remains on Salvatore."
Matteo nodded, though a flicker of doubt crossed his eyes. "If we push too hard, too fast, we risk drawing attention. New York's underworld is volatile enough without throwing another faction into the mix."
Antonio gave his son a hard look, the kind that silenced any further objection. "We move when I say we move. Salvatore is a relic. It's time for a new order, and the Grecos will be the ones to establish it."
The room fell silent, the weight of Antonio's words settling over the men like a heavy blanket. They knew what was coming. War. Blood. Power struggles. But they also knew that with Antonio Greco at the helm, they stood a chance of coming out on top.
Antonio rose from his seat, signaling that the meeting was over. The men stood as well, their chairs scraping against the marble floor. Matteo lingered for a moment, his gaze drifting to his father's face, searching for any sign of doubt. But Antonio was as steady as ever, his confidence unshakable.
As the men began to file out of the room, Antonio placed a hand on Matteo's shoulder, stopping him before he could leave.
"Remember, Matteo," Antonio said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "We are the architects of our own fate. Salvatore De Luca is merely an obstacle—one that will be removed when the time is right."
Matteo nodded, though the weight of his father's expectations pressed heavily on his shoulders. "I won't let you down."
Antonio smiled—a thin, calculated smile. "I know you won't."
As Matteo left the room, the door closing softly behind him, Antonio remained standing by the table, his eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight. The Grecos had waited long enough in the shadows. Soon, they would rise, and the world would remember their name.