Meanwhile, that evening, inside the city limits where old money lived behind tall gates and manicured lawns, the Lombardi estate sprawled across several acres of prime real estate.
The mansion itself was a testament to wealth and power, three stories of Italian architecture, marble columns, sprawling wings that housed more rooms than any family could need.
Inside the formal dining room, Mancini Lombardi sat at the head of a table that could seat twenty. He ate his dinner with not only elegance but in measured movements. His expression was calm, controlled, dangerous in its stillness.
He was a man in his early sixties, with surprisingly very black hair swept back from a strong face. Even though, he was only having dinner, he was in a perfectly tailored suit.
"Water."
Mancini Lombardi didn't raise his voice. No, he didn't need to. His quiet words carried more weight than other men's screams.
