Demetrio's POV
I had a full day scheduled.
Firearm shipment inspection at nine, a meeting with the customs commissioner at eleven that required a level of diplomatic patience I reserved exclusively for men whose cooperation I needed and whose company I did not enjoy, two alliance meetings in the afternoon, and a personal inspection of Il Fantasmo in the early evening that I had been postponing for two weeks. My consigliere had sent the day's agenda to my phone at six in the morning with the quiet efficiency of a man who understood that structure was how I functioned and functioned best.
It was now ten forty-five and I was sitting in my Bugatti on a street on the north side watching Cellie come out of her sixth job interview of the morning.
