The café sat quietly at the edge of New York City, tucked between an old bookstore and a shuttered tailor shop. It was the kind of place that survived because nobody important ever noticed it.
Which made it perfect.
Luca arrived first.
He wore a dark overcoat, no tie, no visible weapon. But that meant nothing. He scanned the street once before entering.
Anthony Russo was already inside.
Alone.
They held eye contact for a long moment before Luca took the seat across from him.
"No bodyguards?" Luca asked.
"They're close," Anthony replied calmly. "Just not visible."
"Same."
A waitress approached. Neither ordered.
Silence stretched between them—not tense, but calculating.
Anthony leaned forward slightly. "My father didn't authorize the warehouse attack."
"I believe you," Luca said.
Anthony studied him carefully. "That's new."
"We were both targets."
Anthony nodded once. "Three shooters confirmed dead. None of them ours. No known affiliations."
"Professionals," Luca added. "Military precision."
Anthony's fingers tapped lightly against the table. "Someone wants the city."
Luca's jaw tightened. "And they're forcing us to weaken each other first."
Outside, traffic rolled by. Life continued, unaware that two heirs of rival empires were discussing survival over cold coffee.
"My father thinks you staged it," Anthony said.
"My uncle thinks you did," Luca replied evenly.
"And what do you think?"
Luca didn't hesitate.
"I think we're being tested."
Anthony leaned back. "By who?"
"That's what we're going to find out."
Across town, Detective Isabella Reyes reviewed security footage in her office near Central Park.
Warehouse footage. Traffic cams. Bridge feeds.
One detail caught her attention.
A black SUV had circled the industrial yard three times before the shooting began.
Registered to a shell corporation.
She dug deeper.
The corporation traced back to offshore accounts.
And one familiar name surfaced in a sealed federal case file.
The Caruso Syndicate.
Isabella's expression hardened.
The Carusos had been pushed out of New York fifteen years ago after a brutal crackdown.
If they were back…
She picked up her phone.
"This just became bigger than the Morettis and Russos," she said to her captain. "Much bigger."
Back at the café, Luca slid a folded photograph across the table.
Anthony looked down.
It was a grainy image of a man exiting the black SUV near the warehouse.
"You recognize him?" Luca asked.
Anthony's expression shifted subtly.
"Yes."
"Who?"
Anthony hesitated.
"Matteo Caruso."
The name hung heavy in the air.
"The Carusos are finished," Luca said.
"That's what everyone thought," Anthony replied.
Both men understood what this meant.
The Caruso Syndicate had once controlled large portions of Manhattan before being dismantled. But dismantled didn't mean destroyed.
It meant waiting.
"They want instability," Anthony said. "If our families go to war, they move in."
Luca nodded. "They tried to kill us both to guarantee it."
Anthony leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"So what do we do?"
The question would've been unthinkable days ago.
Now it was necessary.
"We don't give them the war they want," Luca said firmly. "Not yet."
Anthony's eyes narrowed. "You're proposing a truce?"
"I'm proposing a temporary alignment."
Anthony considered it carefully.
"If my father finds out—"
"He won't," Luca interrupted. "Not until we have proof."
A long silence passed.
Finally, Anthony extended his hand across the table.
"This isn't friendship."
Luca clasped it firmly.
"It's survival."
That evening, inside the Moretti estate, Don Alessandro stood before the large windows overlooking the city skyline.
"You met him," the Don said quietly as Luca entered the room.
Luca froze for half a second.
"I don't know what you mean," he replied.
Don Alessandro turned slowly.
"I didn't raise a fool."
The air thickened.
"You believe the Carusos are back," the Don continued.
"Yes."
"And you think the Russos are not responsible."
"Yes."
Don Alessandro stepped closer.
"And yet you met their heir."
Luca held his ground.
"To assess the threat."
Silence.
Then, unexpectedly, the Don smiled faintly.
"Good."
Luca blinked.
"We will not be pawns in someone else's game," Don Alessandro said. "But understand this—if the Russos betray us, we finish them."
"They understand that," Luca replied.
The Don studied his nephew carefully.
"You're thinking like a Don."
Luca didn't feel proud.
He felt the weight.
Outside, the skyline of New York City shimmered under the night sky.
Three families.
One city.
And a fragile alliance forming in the shadows.
The war hadn't been stopped.
It had evolved.