It was an old Sicilian truth, one Vincenzo Marchesi had learned long ago. It didn't matter if the debt was in money, power, or vengeance-it always had to be paid.
And tonight, Vincenzo was collecting.
Morello had made his move at the Moonlight Room.
Now?
It was Vincenzo's turn.
The meeting was held in a smoke-filled backroom of Ricci's restaurant, a quiet spot where deals were made and lives were decided.
Vincenzo sat at the table, his fingers idly tapping against the wood as he listened to Salvatore Romano's rant.
"We should hit him tonight," Sal was saying. "His joints, his guys, hell, even his fuckin' house if we have to."
Across the table, Ricci exhaled a slow stream of cigar smoke. "That's a good way to get us all killed."
Sal scowled. "So what, we do nothin'?"
Ricci's eyes flicked to Vincenzo. "No. We do it smart."
Vincenzo leaned forward. "Morello's expecting us to go after his businesses. That's what he would do. But we don't hit his rackets first."
Sal frowned. "Then what?"
Vincenzo's voice was cold. Unforgiving.
"We hit the man who pulled the trigger on Carlo."
A beat of silence.
Then Ricci smiled. "Now you're thinking like a boss."
The man's name was Paolo Greco.
A low-level enforcer for Morello. Loyal. Dangerous. But not untouchable.
Vincenzo had done his homework. Paolo was a creature of habit. He always drank at Luigi's Tavern on Tuesday nights, always sat in the same booth, always left alone around midnight.
That was when they would take him.
And they wouldn't just kill him.
They would make an example out of him.
The air inside the tavern was thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of cheap whiskey.
Vincenzo and Sal walked in as if they belonged there, like they weren't planning on dragging a man out to die.
Paolo was exactly where they expected him-a booth in the back, nursing a drink, talking too loudly, laughing too much.
Sal flexed his fingers. "We doin' this quiet or loud?"
Vincenzo didn't answer. He just started walking.
Paolo looked up just as Vincenzo slid into the booth across from him.
His eyes narrowed. "Who the fuck-"
Crack.
Vincenzo didn't give him time to react. He drove his fist into Paolo's nose, sending blood splattering across the table.
Before Paolo could even reach for his gun, Sal was there, dragging him up and shoving a pistol into his ribs.
"Not a word," Sal hissed.
Paolo grunted in pain but didn't resist. He wasn't stupid. He knew fighting back wasn't an option.
Vincenzo wiped the blood off his knuckles. "Let's go."
They dragged him out the back door, into the alley.
No one in the bar even looked up.
The car ride was silent.
Paolo sat in the backseat between Vincenzo and Sal, his hands tied, his face bloody. He didn't beg. He knew it wouldn't help.
They took him to a quiet spot near the docks-a place where bodies disappeared.
The night air was cold, the waves lapping softly against the wooden pier. The smell of salt and rot filled the air.
Ricci was waiting.
Paolo's breath hitched at the sight of him. "Boss-"
Ricci exhaled smoke. "Paolo."
Paolo shook his head. "Listen, I had to do it. Morello-"
Crack.
Sal pistol-whipped him, sending him to his knees.
Ricci crouched down. "You shot Carlo."
Paolo spat blood. "I didn't have a choice."
Vincenzo spoke for the first time. "Neither do we."
Paolo's eyes locked onto his. "Please-"
Vincenzo didn't hesitate.
One shot.
The bullet punched through Paolo's skull, sending his body collapsing onto the dock. Blood pooled between the wooden planks, dripping into the dark water below.
Ricci nodded approvingly.
"Now," he said, "Morello knows what happens when he crosses us."
Vincenzo said nothing.
Because this wasn't over.
This was just the beginning.