“Just how big is this family?” Tank mutters.
“It’s probably mostly guards,” Maverick adds right as the front door swings open.
A sharply dressed man steps out, dark suit, darker eyes, and the kind of posture that says he’s been trained since birth to break bones without wrinkling his jacket.
“Buongiorno, gentlemen,” he says, voice smooth as aged wine. “My name is Enzo. If you would please follow me to the sitting room. There is much to discuss.”
His accent wraps around every word…rich, rolling, unmistakably Italian.
“Please,” he adds with a polite nod, stepping aside with old-world charm, “Don Moretti is expecting your presence. And he does not like to be kept waiting.”
Tank leans toward me. “This guy’s too smooth. Makes me nervous.”
Enzo smiles.
“Do not worry,” he says lightly. “If the Don wished you harmed, you would not have reached the front door.”
Bones snorts. “Comforting.”
Enzo gives a small shrug. “In my experience,signore, the truth rarely is.”
Then he gestures again. This time with less warmth, more authority.
“Follow me,per favore.”
We follow him into a foyer big enough to fit the entire clubhouse and maybe half the damn compound. Marble floors, sweeping staircase, gold accents… the works.
“Definitely compensating,” Tank mutters my earlier words.
Enzo leads us through the hall at a steady, unhurried pace.
We pass portraits lining the walls…stern men in suits, women in expensive dresses, scenes painted in dark, dramatic colors. All of it screamsold money,anddon’t touch anything unless you want to lose a finger.
Guards stand at key points…silent, alert, hands clasped in front of them. Not one of them looks surprised to see us. Not intimidated, either. None even makes eye contact. It’s just unnatural.
“The Don is a very private man,” Enzo says without turning. “You will not see him today. He speaks only when he chooses to.”
Before anyone can comment, Enzo pushes open a double set of doors.
The sitting room is lavish in a way that makes the clubhouse look like a shack. Velvet seating, a crystal bar cart, warm lighting that glows golden instead of harsh.
“Please,” Enzo says, gesturing toward the room. “Make yourselves at home. Help yourself to the refreshments at the bar. I’ll inform the Don’s representative that you’re here.”
“Why not the Don himself?” Spike asks.
“He’s a very busy…and private…man,” Enzo says.
“Does he ever meet with anyone?” I ask.
Enzo gives a faint smile. “On rare occasions. The man values… secrecy. Tradition.”
“Must be nice,” Tank mutters. “Bossing people around without ever leaving the couch.”
Enzo chuckles softly. “Couch? No,signore. The Don is everywhere. Rarely is he actually home.”
“Is he here now?” Maverick asks, voice steady.
“He arrived only moments ago,” Enzo replies easily.
