Salvatore De Luca stood on the balcony of his penthouse in Manhattan, gazing out at the city that had once been his kingdom. The skyline stretched endlessly before him, a sea of towering glass and steel, lit up against the night like a constellation. But the view, once a symbol of his power, now felt like a reminder of everything slipping through his fingers.
He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply as he leaned against the railing. The familiar burn of the smoke in his lungs did little to ease the weight on his mind. Things had been… tense, lately. Rumblings from across the Atlantic had reached his ears—whispers of the Greco family making moves, poking at the edges of his empire, testing his defenses. The Grecos had always been content to operate in Naples, far from Salvatore's territory, but lately, their ambitions seemed to stretch across the ocean.
Salvatore flicked ash from his cigarette, narrowing his eyes as he considered his next move. The Grecos were dangerous—Antonio Greco, in particular, was not a man to underestimate. Salvatore knew that if they were making moves, it was with a plan, a strategy that went far deeper than a simple power grab. Antonio wasn't reckless; he was meticulous. And that made him a threat.
A knock on the door broke Salvatore's thoughts. He didn't turn, his gaze still fixed on the city below.
"Come in," he said, his voice gravelly from years of smoke.
The door opened, and Marco, his capo, stepped into the room. Marco was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his forties, with a face that had seen more than its share of violence. He had been with Salvatore for years—loyal to a fault and as dependable as they came.
"You wanted to see me, boss?" Marco asked, his voice low but respectful.
Salvatore finally turned to face him, taking another drag from his cigarette. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around him. "What do you have for me?"
Marco stepped forward, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket and handing it to Salvatore. "Word on the street is that the Grecos are testing us. They've been pressing our contacts at the ports, cutting into some of our supply lines."
Salvatore's jaw tightened, though his expression remained calm. He unfolded the paper and glanced at it—names, locations, small but significant disruptions. The kind of moves that wouldn't normally cause a stir but, when put together, painted a picture of a family testing the waters, preparing for something bigger.
"They're getting bold," Salvatore muttered, crumpling the paper in his fist. He turned back to the balcony, staring out at the city as if searching for answers in the lights below. "Antonio must think I've grown soft."
Marco stepped up beside him, his posture rigid, as if ready for orders. "Do you want me to handle it? I can send a message. Let them know we're not going to lie down."
Salvatore didn't answer right away. His mind was already calculating, weighing his options. A direct response to the Grecos would undoubtedly escalate things, but ignoring them wasn't an option either. The Grecos had crossed a line by coming into his territory, and that couldn't go unanswered.
"Not yet," Salvatore said finally, flicking his cigarette over the balcony railing. "We're not going to jump just because Antonio wants to provoke us. That's what he's hoping for—for us to react too quickly."
Marco nodded, though his brow furrowed slightly. "So what's the plan?"
Salvatore turned to face his capo, his expression hardening. "We gather intel. I want to know everything there is to know about what the Grecos are planning. Who their allies are, where they're getting their support, and what their endgame is. Antonio doesn't make moves like this without a bigger plan."
Marco's eyes darkened with understanding. "I'll put our best men on it. Quietly."
Salvatore gave a curt nod, his gaze unwavering. "And Marco… make sure they know that if they slip up, they won't just have the Grecos to worry about."
Marco's face tightened in grim agreement. He understood the stakes. The De Luca family couldn't afford mistakes—especially not now, with the Grecos circling like wolves.
As Marco turned to leave, Salvatore called after him. "And send Enzo to Naples."
Marco paused, glancing over his shoulder. "You want Enzo to meet with them?"
"No," Salvatore replied, his voice cold. "I want him to observe. I need to know exactly what Antonio is up to before we make our move."
Marco nodded and left the room, leaving Salvatore alone once again. The weight of leadership pressed heavily on Salvatore's shoulders as he returned to the balcony. He had been at the top for so long, controlling every corner of this city, every business, every alliance. But now, as he watched the lights of New York flicker in the distance, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting beneath him.
The Grecos were moving. Luciano was still unpredictable. And even his own men had begun to whisper doubts behind his back—though they were careful not to let him hear.
Salvatore clenched his fists against the cold railing. He had survived too much, sacrificed too much, to let it all slip away now. He wouldn't let Antonio Greco—or anyone else—take what was his.
But he couldn't shake the nagging thought that this time, the threat was different. This wasn't just about territory or power. This was about legacy. And Salvatore knew that his time to secure that legacy was running out.
He exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cool night air. He had built an empire in this city. Now he would fight to keep it