Salvatore De Luca sat at the head of a long oak table, a silent storm brewing behind his sharp, calculating gaze. The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the chandelier above casting shadows across the polished wood. His capos, including Marco, filled the seats around him, their voices rising and falling in heated discussion.
"They're testing us, boss!" Marco barked, slamming his hand on the table. "We can't just let this slide. Luciano is poking at our defenses, and now the Grecos are making moves on our suppliers. If we don't act soon, they'll see it as weakness."
Salvatore leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his expression calm and unreadable. "And what do you suggest, Marco? That we retaliate immediately and give them the satisfaction of knowing they've rattled us?"
Marco hesitated, the fire in his eyes dimming. "I—I'm just saying, we can't afford to look like cowards."
A faint smile tugged at Salvatore's lips, but it was devoid of humor. He stood slowly, the room falling silent as his presence seemed to expand, commanding attention without a single word.
"Cowards," Salvatore repeated, his voice soft but laced with authority. He took a measured step around the table, his shoes clicking against the marble floor. "Do you know what cowards do, Marco? They react. They lash out without thinking, driven by fear and pride. Tell me—do I strike you as a coward?"
Marco lowered his gaze, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. "No, boss."
"Good." Salvatore's tone was calm, almost serene, as he placed a hand on Marco's shoulder. "Because what they're expecting is a reaction. They want me to move impulsively, to play into their hands. And that…" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "…is not how a king plays the game."
The other capos exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado waning under Salvatore's steady demeanor.
"But boss," another capo interjected cautiously, "if we don't act, it could embolden them. The Grecos are already making overtures to our allies in Sicily. If they sway even one family—"
Salvatore cut him off with a raised hand. "Let them try. The Grecos are desperate to expand their influence, and desperation leads to mistakes. As for Luciano…" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "He's hungry for control but blind to the consequences. He thinks I'll play this game on his terms. He's wrong."
Salvatore moved to the window, his gaze fixed on the city skyline. The weight of his empire pressed against his shoulders, but he bore it with the ease of a man who knew his power was absolute. He didn't need to rush into war or prove his strength with hasty action. His enemies' impatience would be their undoing.
"Let them push," he said finally, his voice carrying the authority of a ruler addressing his court. "Let them think I'm idle, that I'm hesitating. When I strike, it will not be with brute force. It will be precise, calculated, and devastating."
As the meeting concluded, Marco lingered, his unease evident. "Boss, if you don't mind me asking… how can you be so sure they won't catch us off guard?"
Salvatore turned to him, his smile faint but chilling. "Because, Marco, I don't make moves for the sake of making moves. I make them to win."
With that, he left the room, his capos watching in silence, their fear and respect mingling as they tried to unravel the depths of Salvatore's mind.
Somewhere in the shadows of his empire, the pieces were already moving. The game was far from over—it was only just beginning.