“Whatever happens today, we’re all a family,” Othello said. “No matter what.”
“He’s right,” a voice on his right said.
“You came.” Othello looked at Iago.
Iago nodded. “Let’s go. They’re waiting.”
The doors groaned on their hinges, slicing through the chatter like a blade. The sudden silence inside the warehouse hit hard, an unsettling lull that hung in the thick, dimly lit air as Othello and his crew stepped in. Every eye followed them, but the room was as still as prey holding its breath.
Tallen’s voice shattered the quiet like glass. "Fuck, who beat the shit out of Underboss Ricci?" His words, sharp and unapologetically loud, echoed in the cavernous space. It should’ve been a whisper. It wasn’t.
A few uneasy glances darted around, but the tension didn’t crack. It only deepened.
Tito, young and far too reckless for his rank, snickered. "Yeah, didn’t anyone teach him to duck?"
The suffocating tension in the room twisted tighter, but Othello allowed himself a rare grin. It was slow and challenging, spreading wide across his face for the first time in days. Ricci’s icy glare locked onto him, only making him smile wider. Othello knew he irritated Ricci more. However, that momentary flash of amusement didn’t dull the knife-edge of danger that lurked beneath it all.
Ricci’s growl cut through the moment, pulling the focus back to him. "Let’s get started," he snapped, forcing himself into his seat at the head of the table, flanked by Greco and the conspicuously empty chair meant for his ever-absent brother.
Othello didn’t bother to sit. Instead, he tilted his head toward his men. The subtle gesture was enough. All except Iago moved to take positions around the room, standing as sentinels, backs straight, eyes sharp. The message was clear: We’re ready for anything. It made Othello feel proud.
Ricci sneered. “I see where your people get their manners from, Moor."
Othello’s lips twitched, but Greco’s impatient voice cut through before he could reply. "Don’t start," he muttered, his fingers drumming on the table. "I’ve got shit to do after this."
The air was thick with unspoken threats, barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface. Othello’s grin faded, and the tension sharpened, poised to break at the slightest spark.
"Fine." Ricci gathered a stack of paper. "Moor, you have declined to invite Don Alessandro to this meeting; instead, you will have your consigliere to stand at your side. Is that correct?"
"Yes." Othello wasn't sure why Ricci was stating the obvious.
Othello wished they didn't need to be so formal, but he understood that this was Ricci's twisted form of payback. How utterly ridiculous.
"You are charged with the unsanctioned killing of Don Julian Falcon, an ally of the commission. How do you plead?" Ricci continued, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.
Othello clenched his fists. "Why don’t you drop the theatrics and get to the heart of it? We all know you don't give a damn that Falcon is dead. This is your way of trying to humiliate me in front of my men."
Ricci merely smirked, the satisfaction in his eyes unmistakable. "Fine. As for your crimes, we are demoting you from your esteemed position as don to that of a footsoldier—where you will never rise in rank."
The moment Ricci said the words, shouts and sneers erupted in the warehouse, drowning out anything else he had to say. Othello's gaze darted to Iago, whose slight smile flickered and vanished, replaced with a mask of neutrality.
Hope had abandoned their relationship long ago. He turned to Greco, who was banging the gavel with increasing desperation,trying to restore order to the escalating chaos. Othello's men were restless, some brandishing their weapons, their anger palpable in the air.
"Quiet!" Othello commanded, his voice sharp enough to slice through the clamor. Instantly, the room fell into a tense silence, a fragile calm that only heightened the anticipation. He turned his eyes back to Ricci and Greco, who wore expressions of disbelief and irritation, unaware of the storm brewing for them by night’s end.
"You may continue," Othello said, a hint of challenge in his tone.
"As of today, the new head of the Romano family is Iago Romano," Greco declared, his voice steady yet electrifying. "Do you accept the position, Iago Romano?"
“Does this make you happy, Iago?” Othello's heart raced as he looked at Iago. The looming question hung thick in the air, charged with unspoken stakes and impending betrayal.
“Why would you ask me that, O?” Iago asked, his eyes wide.
“You can cut the fucking act,” Othello said as he looked at Greco and Ricci. “It would have been more believable if you had ordered him to kill me.”
“Who said they have to order me to do anything?” The clicking sound made Othello look at Iago, who had his gun aimed at Othello’s head. At a quick glance around the room, Othello saw his men outnumbered and outgunned by the Ricci and Greco family.
“So you decided to drop the act,” Othello said, settling his gaze on Iago.
