The air inside Giovanni's was thick with the scent of cigars and expensive whiskey. Matteo "Matt" Bianchi sat in the corner booth, his back against the wall—a habit drilled into him since childhood. His father had taught him that in their world, trust was an illusion, and power came at a price.
Across from him, his uncle, Dominic Bianchi, swirled a glass of bourbon, watching him like a predator sizing up its prey. "You did good last night, kid," he said, his gravelly voice barely audible over the murmur of the restaurant. "Carlo Romano won't be bothering us anymore."
Matt clenched his jaw. It wasn't pride he felt—it was something colder. The memory of the hit was still fresh in his mind. Carlo had begged for his life, swearing loyalty even as Matt pulled the trigger.
Dominic leaned in. "Now that you've proven yourself, it's time for something bigger. We've got a problem, Matt. Someone inside is talking to the feds."
Matt's grip on his glass tightened. A rat. In their family.
Dominic smirked. "Find out who it is. And handle it."
Matt nodded, but his mind was already racing. If there was a traitor, it meant one thing—blood would be spilled. And in the mafia, loyalty was everything.