Months had passed since Vito DeLuca had taken his father's place at the head of the family. The city, which had once felt like a vast, unpredictable ocean, now seemed smaller, as if he could control every wave with a mere thought. But power was a double-edged sword, and the price of maintaining it was steep.
Vito sat in the back of his father's old office, the weight of his new responsibilities pressing down on him like a thousand-pound stone. The walls, once adorned with family photos, were now covered in maps, red marks, and pictures of people with names crossed out. Each face represented a rival, an ally, or someone who had crossed the line. The DeLuca family was in a war—a war that seemed to have no end in sight.
But it wasn't just the external enemies that Vito had to worry about. It was the growing dissent within his own ranks. A meeting was called for tonight. A select few of the family's most trusted members would gather to discuss the future. But Vito had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach—there were whispers. People were questioning his leadership, wondering if the old way was better.
As the clock struck midnight, Vito's men began arriving, each walking through the heavy wooden doors with an air of caution. He could feel their eyes on him, each one silently judging. They were waiting to see what kind of leader he would be.
Giovanni's old lieutenants, men who had served his father for decades, filed into the room. There was Donato, the grizzled, chain-smoking underboss with a temper as short as his fuse. Then there was Alessio, a calculating man with a quiet demeanor but eyes that never missed a detail. Finally, there was Marco, the strategist, always one step ahead of everyone else, but with a hidden ambition that Vito didn't fully trust.
"Sit," Vito said, his voice steady, betraying none of the unease he felt. He stood at the head of the long, polished table, staring down at the group before him.
The room was tense, thick with unspoken words. Vito knew this meeting wasn't going to be about family business as usual. It was about his leadership—and whether he had earned their loyalty.
Alessio, as always, was the first to speak. "The Vargos weren't the only problem we've had, Vito. The Canetti family is making moves. They've been quietly growing in power, and they're starting to eye our turf. You've kept us safe, but this could get ugly."
Vito leaned forward, his fingers tapping against the surface of the table. "I know. But we're not backing down. The Canettis won't take what's ours."
Donato grunted, his eyes narrowing. "It's not just about what we're holding on to. It's about how we're holding on to it. Your father had a way of managing things… You're doing things differently, Vito. Some of the old guard are… concerned."
The words stung, but Vito kept his expression neutral. "I'm not my father. I never claimed to be. I'll lead my own way."
"But will it be enough?" Marco spoke up, his voice quiet but sharp. "We need to think long-term, not just survive. You've been playing it safe, Vito. The time for playing it safe is over. You need to show the city that the DeLucas aren't to be messed with."
Vito clenched his jaw. Marco's words cut deep, and though the man spoke with a level of respect, there was something about his tone that felt like a challenge. Vito had always known that Marco was more ambitious than he let on. Perhaps it was time to test him.
"You want action? Fine," Vito said, standing up and turning his back on them for a moment, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "We go after the Canettis. Hard. We hit them where it hurts—supply lines, casinos, everything. We remind them who controls this city."
The room went silent for a moment. Donato exchanged a glance with Alessio, but it was Marco who spoke next.
"And what about the others?" Marco asked, his gaze cold. "What about the ones within our own family who question you?"
Vito's eyes snapped back to Marco, a flicker of warning in his gaze. "You're all loyal to me, aren't you, Marco? Isn't that what matters most?"
Marco gave a small, tight smile. "Of course. But loyalty can be fragile, Vito. You can't lead through fear forever."
The tension in the room was palpable, but Vito didn't back down. "Loyalty is earned, Marco. And I'll earn it, one way or another."
The lieutenants exchanged uneasy looks, and Vito knew this was a turning point. The next few moves would define his reign.
---
The Hit
Two days later, Vito received word that the first wave of the DeLuca attack on the Canetti family was set to begin. He stood at the window of his father's mansion, watching the city below. The streets, once familiar and comforting, now seemed foreign to him—filled with enemies, hidden threats, and those waiting for his downfall.
But tonight, everything would change. Vito wasn't just a son anymore. He was the Don of the DeLuca family, and the Canettis would soon learn the price of challenging him.
His phone buzzed—another text. This time, it was from Elena.
I heard about the Canetti plan. Be careful, Vito. The family doesn't always have your back.
Vito stared at the message, his chest tightening. He had always protected Elena, kept her safe from the underworld they lived in. But now, as Don, he couldn't protect anyone—not from the decisions he would have to make.
Vito's eyes flickered to the dark city below. The DeLuca family was at war. And this time, there would be no turning back.