Emilio leaned on a stack of crates, feigning boredom while his pulse thudded in his ears. His palms itched. Inside the crates were shipments Dominic would never know about unless someone told him.
"Funny place to hide," a voice said from the dark.
Emilio spun. A figure stepped out of the shadows, calm, deliberate, like he belonged there.
"You've been busy," the man said, tapping the side of the crate. Thud. Thud. "Selling what doesn't belong to you."
Emilio forced a crooked grin. "You've got the wrong idea."
"No," the man said flatly. "I've got the right one. And here's the problem Dominic finds out, you're dead. Quick. Messy." His head tilted slightly, studying Emilio's face. "Me? I see value in secrets. Especially yours."
Emilio's smirk faltered. "…What do you want?"
"Not yet." The man's eyes glittered in the dim light. "You'll know when I ask. Until then stay alive."
He vanished as silently as he came, leaving Emilio clutching the wood like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Two nights later.
A poker table, cards scattered, smoke curling. Three of Dominic's soldiers sat stiff as the unknown man dropped a folder on the table. The photographs spilled out grainy shots of a deal they thought buried. Cash. Weapons. A woman they'd sworn never to mention.
One soldier cursed under his breath. "How the fuck "
The man's voice cut him off. "Dominic finds out, you'll be in the ground before morning prayers. He doesn't forgive mistakes."
The second soldier slammed his fist on the table. "You think we'll betray him for you?"
The man smiled faintly. "I don't think. I know." He tapped the photos once. "Because survival doesn't ask permission. It demands choices."
The silence was thick. The first man swallowed hard. "…What do you want from us?"
"Loyalty," he said simply. "Swear it to me, and Dominic never knows."
The hesitant nod came first. Then the second. The third man spat on the floor instead.
"I'd rather die than bow to you."
The unknown man leaned closer, almost tender. "Then die you will."
The blade was quick. A gurgle. Blood soaking the cards. The other two froze, horror painted across their faces as the body slumped forward onto the table.
The man straightened his jacket, calm as ever. "Now," he said softly, "shall we shake hands?"
Neither soldier hesitated again.
Every scene was like that calculated. Sharp. Men cornered with their own sins laid bare, forced to choose between Dominic's wrath and the shadow's promise of survival. Those who resisted disappeared. Those who yielded became the bricks of a new army.
The docks, midnight.
A lone soldier stood smoking, watching the waves slap against the wood. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the unknown man appeared beside him like he'd risen from the shadows.
"You're sloppy," the man said.
The soldier froze. "What….what are you talking about?"
"Your gambling debts," he murmured. "The Russians you owe. The cash you skimmed off Dominic's cut. Should I list more?"
The cigarette slipped from the soldier's fingers. "Fuck…"
"You don't need to answer," the man said. "You just need to obey."
The soldier's jaw clenched, chest heaving. Then he nodded. The man smiled and walked away, leaving the soldier shaking, as if the night itself had claimed him.
A week later.
Two bodies hung in an abandoned slaughterhouse, meat hooks through their shoulders. Dominic's men ,loyal, stubborn, dead. A warning to anyone else who thought resistance was an option.
The unknown man stood below them, coat spotless, voice calm as his followers gathered.
"Dominic builds with loyalty," he said. "I build with fear. Both work. But mine lasts longer."
The silence was heavy. No one argued. No one dared.
Rome, three days later.
A dark hotel suite. Two men in tailored suits sat across from him. Italian mafia, old allies of Trevor.
"You're not Trevor," one said coldly.
"No," the man replied, voice steady. "I'm better."
The second man leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "And Dominic? He'll crush you."
The man smirked, sliding a folder across the table. "Not if half his empire is already mine."
They opened it. Photos. Names. Bank accounts. Routes. And promises.
The first mafioso's lips curled into a grin. "You've been busy."
The unknown man poured himself a drink, calm as ever. "Busy enough to finish what my father started."
Glasses clinked. The deal was struck.
Dominic sat behind his desk, jacket tossed carelessly over the chair, a glass of whiskey resting in his hand. He wasn't drinking, just turning the glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
The door opened without a knock. Jay entered first, Tobias a step behind him. Both looked unsettled, the kind of unease Dominic didn't miss.
"Say it," Dominic murmured, eyes still fixed on the glass.
Jay's jaw tightened, but Tobias spoke first. "We checked the last run. The crates from sicily don't add up. Half of them are missing."
That made Dominic glance up, slow and deliberate. His eyes were cold steel. "Missing?"
Tobias shifted. "The records say everything was intact. Emilio signed off on it. But…."
"But he's been throwing money around," Jay cut in, voice harder. "Too much money. Gambling, paying debts, buying shit he shouldn't afford. He's either stealing from us or selling on the side."
Silence pressed down on the room. Dominic leaned back, set the glass down with a muted thud. His fingers drummed once against the desk.
"You're telling me Emilio is stealing from me?" His tone was soft, but the softness was dangerous.
"We're saying it doesn't smell right," Jay replied. His eyes flicked toward Tobias, then back to Dominic. "It's too clean. Whoever's covering the trail knows how we work."
Dominic's gaze narrowed, the smallest shift in his expression, but it made the air in the room heavier. "Names. Proof."
"We don't have proof yet," Tobias admitted, his voice quieter now. "But Boss… this feels bigger than just Emilio. Men are restless. Talking in corners. Someone's moving pieces we can't see."
The room grew colder. Dominic leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and stared at them like he was reading every word behind their faces.
"Good," he said finally. "Let them move. The tighter they think their grip is, the easier it'll be to cut it off."
Neither Jay nor Tobias spoke. The weight of his calm was worse than if he'd exploded.
"You'll shadow Emilio," Dominic continued. "Every move, every call, every woman he fucks. I want his life peeled apart until there's nothing left but bone. If he's dirty, you'll bring me the proof." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "And if he's dirty, you'll bring him to me alive."
Jay nodded once. Tobias followed, slower, his face still drawn tight. They turned to leave.
"Jay." Dominic's voice stopped them at the door.
Jay looked back.
Dominic's eyes were sharp, glinting with something unreadable. "You've been with me long enough to know this: betrayal never stays hidden. The dead always drag the living down with them."
Jay's throat worked, but he gave a single, firm nod before stepping out.
The door shut. The office fell silent again. Dominic lifted the whiskey to his lips, but he didn't drink. He only stared into it, already thinking, already calculating. His empire was bleeding from the inside, and he intended to find the vein.