"The grand opening. I need you there, front and center."
He stares at me like I've suggested he walk naked down Fifth Avenue. "You might as well put a fucking bullet in my head than force me to socialize with those people."
I can't help but laugh at his horrified expression. "What people, exactly?"
"Politicians shaking hands for photo ops. Celebrities who think they're untouchable. Society wives judging everyone's fucking outfits." He shakes his head vehemently. "Not my scene, brother. Send Alessio. He enjoys that shit."
"Alessio will be there, but I need you too." I tap the casino floor plan. "This is as much your achievement as mine. Besides, the Sartoris respect strength, and you're the muscle of this family."
Enzo runs a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident. "I don't do small talk and champagne flutes, Damiano. I'll fuck it up."
"No, you won't," I say firmly. "You don't have tocharm them. Just be there, be yourself—well, maybe not entirely yourself—and show a united front."
"Fuck," he mutters, the single word conveying volumes of resignation. "Fine. But when some senator's wife asks me about the fucking drapes or whatever, I'm sending her to Lucrezia."
"Fair enough."
A sharp knock on the door interrupts our conversation. Alessio stands in the doorway, his expression serious.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, walking into the office without waiting for an invitation.
"What is it?" I ask, noting the tension in his shoulders.
Alessio adjusts his stance. "The Albanians reached out."
Enzo straightens in his chair. "The Albanian crew from Queens? Byron's people?"
"The same," Alessio confirms, his dark eyes meeting mine. "Apparently with Byron's death, they're looking for new business arrangements. Their representative—Dardan Bajraktari—wants a sit-down."
I lean back in my chair, considering this development. The Albanians had exclusively operated under Byron's umbrella for years. Brutal enforcers, effective distributors, but always loyal to Easton.
"What exactly are they proposing?" I ask.
"They were vague on details," Alessio replies. "But reading between the lines, they've got distribution channels throughout Queens we never fully mapped. They're suggesting there might be mutual benefit in working together now that their boss is feeding worms."
Enzo scoffs. "Convenient timing. Byron's body isn't even cold."
"Pragmatic," I correct him. "They know there's a vacuum. Better to fill it with an alliance than wait for us to move in anyway."
I drum my fingers against the casino blueprints, weighing options. The Albanians could provide a seamless transition into territories we'd been eyeing since before the arrangement with Byron. No bloodshed, no territory war.
"What's your assessment?" I ask Alessio.
He crosses his arms. "They're dangerous, but they've always been professional. Never broke agreements with Byron, at least none we know of. They run tight operations. Could be valuable."
"Or they could be looking to get close enough to take revenge for their boss," Enzo counters.
Alessio shakes his head. "Byron wasn't the kind to inspire that level of loyalty. He paid them well, but there was no love lost."
I consider both perspectives, feeling the weight of the decision. Queens has always been a complicated territory, and absorbing Byron's operation without bloodshed would be ideal, especially with Zoe pregnant.
"Set up a meeting," I decide. "Neutral territory—the back room at Omertà. Make sure they understand it's exploratory only."
Alessio nods. "When?"
"Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock." I turn to Enzo. "I want you there, but out of sight. Watch their body language, count their men."
Enzo's mouth curves into a predatory smile. "Gladly."
