Frame

The mansion was illuminated with golden lights and whiskey flowed like water in spring. Mafiosos from all over the city gathered under one roof: alliances, betrayals, and secrets floated amidst forced laughter and tense embraces.

Marco "El Zorro" De Luca, the feared boss of the south, watched from his corner. His cognac glass trembled slightly in his hand. Not from fear... but from rage. In the center of the room, Luisa, his wife, was laughing. Her laughter, that melody he alone believed he deserved, was dedicated to another man.

"Who is that?" he asked through gritted teeth to his bodyguard, without taking his eyes off him.

"A certain Ivan Russo, from the north. New, but already with a reputation for being skillful and... charming."

Marco clenched his jaw. Luisa was touching Iván's arm as she spoke, and that was a provocation to him. His mind wasn't thinking, it was boiling. The music continued to play, but Marco walked towards them as if each step were a gunshot.

"Are you having fun, Luisa?" he asked with a strained smile, interrupting the conversation.

Luisa looked at him, with that mixture of defiance and sweetness that always drove him crazy.

"We were just talking about opera, darling," she replied without moving an inch. "Ivan sings in Italian. Right?"

Ivan extended a hand, calmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. De Luca."

Marco didn't hug her. His gaze said it all. At that moment, the silence cut through the music, even though it was still playing. They knew that night would end with a toast… or a gunshot.

Luisa noticed it. She approached him, took him by the arm, and whispered only for him:

"Don't ruin the party, Marco. Not out of jealousy."

Marco smiled, but his eyes remained fixed on Ivan.

—Not this time. But the opera... always has a final act.

And he walked away with Luisa on his arm, leaving behind a tension that already smelled like gunpowder.

The mansion was illuminated with golden lights and whiskey flowed like water in spring. Mafiosos from all over the city gathered under one roof: alliances, betrayals, and secrets floated amidst forced laughter and tense embraces.

Marco "El Zorro" De Luca, the feared boss of the south, watched from his corner. His cognac glass trembled slightly in his hand. Not from fear... but from rage. In the center of the room, Luisa, his wife, was laughing. Her laughter, that melody he alone believed he deserved, was dedicated to another man.

"Who is that?" he asked through gritted teeth to his bodyguard, without taking his eyes off him.

"A certain Ivan Russo, from the north. New, but already with a reputation for being skillful and... charming."

Marco clenched his jaw. Luisa was touching Iván's arm as she spoke, and that was a provocation to him. His mind wasn't thinking, it was boiling. The music continued to play, but Marco walked towards them as if each step were a gunshot.

"Are you having fun, Luisa?" he asked with a strained smile, interrupting the conversation.

Luisa looked at him, with that mixture of defiance and sweetness that always drove him crazy.

"We were only talking about opera, darling," she replied without moving an inch. "Ivan sings in Italian. Right?"

Ivan extended a hand, calmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. De Luca."

Marco didn't hug her. His gaze said it all. At that moment, the silence cut through the music, even though it was still playing. They knew that night would end with a toast… or a gunshot.

Luisa noticed it. She approached him, took him by the arm, and whispered only for him:

"Don't ruin the party, Marco. Not out of jealousy."

Marco smiled, but his eyes remained fixed on Ivan.

—Not this time. But the opera... always has a final act.

And he walked away with Luisa on his arm, leaving behind a tension that already smelled like gunpowder.