The Mafia's Veil

ys craved

ple, the easy. I wasn't the type to sit idly by, writing soft stories that never reached beneath the surface. I clawed my way up- small-town obituaries

moth to a flame, not knowing t

ng. It wasn't just another assignment, another story that would rise and fall with the tide of a news cycle. No, this was da

mba

gger than the space he occupied, like a storm waiting to break. I didn't need to lift my eyes to know he was standing there, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed over his

n I knew what he was asking. Not when I understo

low, sharp. "Dante isn't just pushing liquor and fancy cigars, Cat

aunting. Dante Lombardi. Even his name was enough to make hardened cops shudder. It wasn't just a name-it was a sentence, a warnin

The face was exactly what I expected: sharp, predatory. But it wasn't just his face that struck me. It was the energy that radiated from the image-something palpable, a

ow many had crossed him and vani

er as my thoughts tangled. Could I do this? Could I go into the

words scraping against my throat like glass. My voice, al

. It held me, unfaltering. "F

and gold-leafed mirrors, so overpowering you could almost taste it. It wasn't the kind of wealth that whispered gently-it bellowed, shouted at you, making you feel small, insignificant

e rhythm itself was marking time - waiting for something to ha

ntion. But not too much. Not enough to make them think I was more than I seemed. My fingers gripped the edges of the silver tray, t

ed in my mind, her voice cool, dismissive. "You

been good at

inged with power and greed. Every man in this room wasn't just a businessman-they were enforcers, protectors of secrets too dark to see the light of day. I knew them-had studied their faces

- there

would he be? He owned the room. He

out trying too hard. His posture was effortless, yet every muscle in his body seemed to hum with a subtle, controlled intensity. His left hand rested lazily on the armrest, fingers tapping in rhythm, like a clock counting down the seconds until some

ouchable, his criminal record nonexistent-like a ghost, a myth that no one could catch. But none of the articles, none of t

even breathe unless he permitted it. Those who dared to challenge him-those who got too close to his power

his eyes

ink, fathomless and deep. And in that moment, they locked onto mine, steady, unwavering. I was nothi

ce, suspended in time-made me question if invisibility was even possible in this world. Would I e