Chapter 18 - DMITRI SIDOROV

The familiar weight of expectation settled on my shoulders as we walked through the doors of the villa. Every bowed head, every murmured greeting, was a reminder of who I was – Luca Rossi, the Don. It was a title I wore like a second skin, a mantle of power and responsibility that could feel as much a cage as a crown.

I embraced the shadows, the power games, the intricate alliances and betrayal. We thrived on it, thrived on the respect, the fear, the absolute control.

Even when it seemed like I had left… I did not, not really. I was still the Don of the Italian Mafia and the life, the intrigue, the blood it was all in my veins. Me and my brother's veins

I followed Marco through the labyrinthine halls, the scent of old money and subtle menace clinging to the air. My office, when we finally reached it, was a study in understated wealth. Dark wood, leather, a single abstract painting on the wall that probably cost more than most people made in a year. I’d always found a certain ironi