"I need to know what's really going on. This isn't a normal family request. I'm not stupid. What is this really about? What am I actually involved in here?"
Artan steps forward, moving away from the fireplace with smooth grace. His voice is calm when he speaks, soothing and rational. "Lily, you need to understand. In our world, appearances matter. Driton represents the council. They have expectations about who leads, about what stability looks like."
"What world?" I turn to look at him directly, frustration bubbling over. "What council? Stop talking around it and just tell me what's happening."
Erion speaks first. No cushioning or softening. "We're Albanian mafia."
Silence.
Complete. Absolute. Suffocating.
The word hangs in the air like smoke, curling through the space between us, filling my lungs with something acrid and impossible to ignore.
Mafia.
Luan and Artan both turn on Erion immediately, their voices overlapping in sharp rebuke. "Shut up." "Not now." "Mos fol."
Erion just shrugs, completely unbothered by their anger. "She deserves to know what she's getting into."
My thoughts are racing, tumbling over each other too fast to catch and examine properly.
Mafia.
Everything clicks into place with sickening clarity. The secrecy that surrounds every aspect of their lives. The money that seems endless and unquestioned. The way they move through the world like they own it, like rules don't apply to them. The violence I've sensed simmering beneath Erion's skin, the control Luan exercises like a reflex, the way Artan watches everything with the vigilance of a man expecting attack.
Of course. Of course they're mafia.
How did I not see it before?
Erion looks at me, his pale blue eyes cold and assessing in a way that makes my skin prickle. "Does this change things for you? Because it doesn't change things for me. You know who we are. What we do for money shouldn’t be relevant."
"It's very relevant." My voice sounds stronger than I feel, clearer than the chaos in my head. "What do you do? What does mafia mean? Drugs? Guns? Human trafficking?"
Luan's face darkens immediately, offense written clear across his features. His entire body goes rigid. "Absolutely not. Never.Kurrë."
The vehemence in his voice is genuine.
Artan intervenes, physically stepping between us like he's trying to prevent an explosion. "Lily. Right now, under Luan's leadership, we deal mostly with contraband. High-end goods."
"Contraband?"
The word feels strange in my mouth, foreign and heavy.
Luan speaks, his voice calmer now but still tense. "We're responsible for a significant share of designer brands currently in circulation. Luxury goods. High-end fashion."
My mind struggles to reconcile this with what I thought mafia meant. "You're tricking people into buying fake things?"
Erion scoffs, pushing off the wall. "It's not fake. Not the way you're thinking. They're made in the same factories as the legitimate products. Same materials, same workers, same quality. Some products leave through the front door with official stamps and taxes paid. Others leave through the back door without the paperwork. That's the only difference."
I'm skeptical. The numbers don't add up in my head. "That's enough to support the kind of wealth you have? The cars, the apartments, the private jets?"
Artan nods slowly, his expression serious. "At the scale we operate? Worldwide distribution networks across multiple continents? Yes. We also have legitimate businesses. Nightclubs. Hotels. Casinos."
Casinos.
The word hits me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
Casinos. Where people gamble away their savings. Where people develop addictions they can't break. Where families get destroyed by debts that spiral out of control.
