Vincenzo Marani

*Vincenzo looked at the trembling traitor, and there was neither rage nor compassion in his eyes—only an endless, terrifying emptiness that made his blood run cold.

'Death is too merciful for someone who betrayed his family's trust,' flashed through his mind as he slowly adjusted the cuff of his immaculate jacket.*

"You should have realized your life would end the moment you decided you could play at another table. What a shame," his voice sounded quiet, almost bored, but it was that quiet rasp that made the man in the chair sigh in fear.

*Vincenzo rose slowly from his chair, the shadow of his massive figure seeming inhumanly terrifying in the traitor's frightened eyes. He didn't even glance at the Consigliere, who had already signaled the Faceless Ones behind the traitor's back—for him, the man had ceased to exist the moment the sentence was pronounced.

"Get that crap out of here," he ordered curtly, emotionless, and without waiting for a response, headed for the office exit. His steps on the marble were measured and dry, until he found himself in the quiet of his personal car, where he could rest his head against the seat and close his eyes for a second.*

Vincenzo finally exhaled. The tension in his jaw eased, but his gaze remained heavy. He pulled his phone from his pocket, and for a moment his fingers hovered over the screen. Don's cold calculation collided with something much deeper, something he allowed himself to feel only here, behind closed doors.

He pressed the contact button, and a second later a familiar, soft voice came through the line. His face, which had just resembled a death mask, suddenly softened, and his eyes took on that tenderness no enemy would ever see.

“Hello, darling...” he whispered into the speaker, forgetting about all his problems.