Three days later, the meeting was held in a secluded villa on the outskirts of the city—far from the chaos of Salvatore's base. Clara stood at the head of a long wooden table, surrounded by a dozen men in expensive suits, their faces a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Enzo and Alessandro stood beside her; Isabella watched from the corner, her eyes scanning the room.
"Thank you all for coming," Clara said, her voice clear and steady. "As you know, Salvatore is gone. He built his power on lies and betrayal—and we all suffered for it. Today, I'm proposing something different: a pact. We'll share resources, protect each other's territories, and settle disputes through talk, not violence."
A murmur rippled through the table. A man with gray hair and a scarred jaw—Marcus, one of the oldest bosses—leaned forward. "And what's in it for you, Clara? Your family had little power before Salvatore targeted you. Now you want to lead us?"
"It's not about power," she said. "It's about survival. The police are closing in on all of us. If we keep fighting each other, we'll all end up in prison—or dead. But if we stand together, we can build something that lasts."
Marcus laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "That's a nice story. But I don't trust you—or your friends. Enzo betrayed Salvatore, who betrayed Alessandro… who's to say you won't turn on us next?"
Before Clara could respond, the door burst open. A young man stumbled in, blood streaming down his face. "Marcus," he gasped. "They're here—Salvatore's men. They didn't all die at the base. They're attacking your warehouse."
Marcus stood up, his face pale. "That's impossible," he said. "I thought they were all gone."
"They're not," the man said. "And they're coming here next."