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Chapter 1: The Return
The city of Verona had changed since Vincenzo Delucci left ten years ago, but not in ways that mattered. The same narrow streets twisted through neighborhoods where shadows whispered secrets, and the same flickering streetlamps fought to illuminate sins no one dared confess. In this city, power wasn't held by politicians but by men like Vincenzo—men who understood loyalty, fear, and violence.
Vincenzo, known as The Cobra, stepped off the train, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored black suit. The leather of his shoes whispered against the platform, his every movement deliberate and controlled, like a predator scanning the field. To the world, he was just another businessman returning home. But to those who knew him, this wasn't just a homecoming. This was the beginning of something dangerous.
He inhaled deeply, the cold night air filling his lungs, carrying the scent of rain and cigarette smoke. Memories flooded back—deals made in dark alleys, betrayals sealed with a bullet, and the last time he saw his family's empire crumble, forcing him to leave Verona behind. But now, he was back, and it wasn't nostalgia pulling him home. It was unfinished business.
"Welcome home, Cobra."
The voice belonged to Rocco, a broad-shouldered enforcer who had been with the Delucci family since the old days. His graying beard and tired eyes couldn't mask the respect—and fear—he held for Vincenzo.
"It's good to be back," Vincenzo replied, his voice smooth but cold. He clasped Rocco's hand, and they exchanged a brief look that said more than words ever could. There was a storm coming, and everyone knew it.
The two men walked out of the station in silence, the city's heartbeat thrumming around them. The taxi waiting at the curb wasn't just transportation—it was a signal. The streets whispered of old alliances fraying, rival families pushing boundaries, and a vacuum of power waiting to be filled. And Vincenzo Delucci intended to fill it.
As the taxi weaved through the streets, they passed familiar landmarks: The Cat's Cradle Bar, where he sealed his first deal with the Mancini family; St. Augustine's Cathedral, where old enemies used to meet under a thin veil of peace. But all Vincenzo saw was opportunity. Every building, every block, was a reminder of what was taken from him—and what he intended to reclaim.
"Things have changed," Rocco muttered, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his worn Zippo. "The Costas think they run this city now. The Mancinis are getting cozy with them too."
Vincenzo leaned back, his expression unreadable. The Costas. He remembered them—greedy, reckless, and careless. They thought Vincenzo was gone for good. They thought they could carve up what once belonged to him. But they were about to learn a painful truth: The Cobra always strikes when you least expect it.
"They'll get what's coming," Vincenzo said softly, though there was nothing soft in the promise.
The taxi pulled to a stop in front of a quiet restaurant on the edge of the old Delucci territory. It looked ordinary on the outside—red awning, faded sign, smells of garlic and basil drifting from within—but Vincenzo knew better. This was La Serpentina, a meeting place for those still loyal to the family.
Rocco glanced at Vincenzo before opening the door. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Vincenzo smiled—a thin, dangerous curve of his lips. "Ready?" he echoed. "I've been waiting ten years."
Inside, a dozen eyes turned toward them as the two men stepped in. Some faces showed relief, others caution. Old soldiers, new blood—all waiting to see if the legend of The Cobra still held true.
Vincenzo scanned the room, his presence heavy. He wasn't here to ask for permission or prove himself. He was here to take back what was his.
Rocco gave him a brief nod and whispered, "They're all yours, boss."
Vincenzo stepped forward, unbuttoning his coat slowly, savoring the moment. The Cobra was back. And before long, the city would remember exactly what that meant.