The moment Raffaele stormed into his penthouse, the air shifted.
"Dove cazzo sono?!" (Where the fuck are they?!) he barked, slamming the door so hard the sound echoed through the four corners of the building.
His men froze instantly, none of them dared to breathe too loud.
He grabbed one of them by the collar. "I said, dove cazzo sono i pacchi?!" (Where the fuck are the packages?!)
"B-boss, we…. we already started unpacking them…."
Before the man could finish, Raffaele shoved him hard against the wall. "Siete tutti dei coglioni?!" (Are you all idiots?!)
His voice was shaking, from fear, and from the fury boiling in his veins.
"Get those drugs back in the container!" he roared, tossing a bottle of whiskey off the table; it shattered against the floor, leaving broken bottles everywhere.
"Adesso! Muovetevi, stronzi!" (Now! Move, assholes!)
The men scattered immediately, rushing to gather everything they had touched.
Raffaele ran a hand through his hair, pacing, breathing heavily. "Quel bastardo…" (That bastard…) he muttered.
"That calm face of his… he's up to something."
He clenched his jaw, eyes darkening. "He wants to play games? Fine. But no one plays better than me."
He kicked the broken bottle aside, snatched his phone from the counter, and growled,
"Antonio, vuoi la guerra? Ti darò la guerra." (Antonio, you want war? I'll give you war.)
ANTONIO'S OFFICE
Vince feeds the camera to the monitor. The image flickers, then settles — a shaky view from above Raffaele's head. Perfect. I can see what he sees: the men rushing around the unpacked containers, powder scattered across the tables, bags being shoved back into boxes like scared rats hiding evidence.
I smirk. Vince really did it — he planted the damn camera right on his hair. Bold move.
"Cazzo," Vince mutters. "They're panicking. Look at those idiots trying to fix what they ruined."
Vince muttered, "Great, I can hear the bastard but can't see his face. Mi fa impazzire (it's driving me crazy)."
I smirked. "You'll survive. Just keep the camera running. I want to know every damn word he says."
He folded his arms, eyes glued to the monitor. "Told you the container have been touched."
"He got some balls," I said, my tone flat. "Don't you think?"
Vince nodded. "Yeah. I never trusted him. And from the info I got this morning…" he paused, jaw tightening, "he've already sold some of the substance."
The room went silent for a moment. The kind of silence that burns before the storm.
"To who?" I asked.
"Torreto and Miguel," Vince said. "He sold some out to them."
"You should know how much I love dark twists like this," I said with a smirk.
"You're a fucking bastard, a maniac," Vince smirked back.
"I'm taking three times the money he collected from them. From him," I said.
"I know you too well, bro," Vince grinned.
"Close your teeth — I'm not interested in your white teeth," I replied.
"Whatever. So I get my reward for guessing right about the container?" Vince asked.
"The last time I checked, that's your duty," I said.
"Oh, don't make the whole thing boring," Vince groaned.
"Okay, what do you want?" I asked
"Your sweet little angel," he said.
"I know you're desperate for death, but I never expected you to die by my hands," I said.
"What do you mean?" Vince asked.
"I won't hesitate to kill you," I replied.
"Your obsession will be the end of you. Now focus on those files on your table before I kick your ass. I'm not ready for any childish relationship with an innocent girl like yours," Vince said.
"Ok, boss," I replied .
"Prepara i ragazzi. Stanotte andiamo a caccia di chi ha toccato la mia merce." (Prepare the boys. Tonight we hunt down anyone who touched my shipment.)
"Li trascinerò in mezzo alla strada. Niente misericordia, niente spettacolo — solo silenzio e sangue." (I'll drag those filthy bastards into the street. No mercy, no show — just silence and blood.) I told vince.