The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Dante remained standing at the head of the table, commanding every eye in the room. I sat beside him, forcing myself to maintain perfect posture, perfect composure, even though my heart was racing.
"Three weeks ago, the Volkov family declared war on us," Dante began. "They hit our businesses, killed our people, and thought they could take what was ours. We responded. We ended them. And now" He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle. "Now the Russian Bratva considers that an insult. An act of war against Mother Russia herself."
"The Volkovs were animals," Don DiMarco said, his thick Brooklyn accent filling the room. "Everyone here lost money because of their aggression. You did us all a favor, Moretti."
"The Bratva doesn't see it that way. To them, we destroyed a connected family. Disrespected their authority. And they're mobilizing to teach us a lesson."
