The storm that had loomed in the distance for weeks finally began to creep closer. The air in the city felt heavier, as if the buildings themselves were holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable collision between loyalty and betrayal.

Enzo sat at the long oak table in the villa’s private war room, a single glass of whiskey in front of him. Around him, his most trusted lieutenants filled the room, their faces grim, their postures tense. Maps of the city were spread across the table, red pins marking territories under his control and black pins marking areas that had grown hostile.

“Three more of our shipments were intercepted at...