They were escorted to a large room at the back of the villa, where the meeting was already underway.
The atmosphere inside was tense, thick with the weight of power struggles and hidden agendas.
Three major leaders of the Italian mafia sat around a large, ornate table, each one exuding an air of authority and danger. Their eyes turned to Rowan as he entered, their gazes assessing, calculating, ready to see how this power play would unfold.
At the head of the table sat Elio’s younger brother, Carlo. Elio was dead, his reign abruptly ended by betrayal or god knows what.. but it didn’t matter much in their world.
Carlo was much younger than Elio but just as ruthless as him, and today he hosted this meeting. His face was smoother than Elio’s, less lined with age and more with the intensity of ambition.
His eyes, though looked younger, but held the same hawk-like sharpness, the look of a man who had seen far too much and had done far worse. They fixed on Rowan with a mixture of curiosity and cautious respect.
“Rowan,” Carlo greeted, his voice lacking the deep, just like his brother’s, but carrying its own brand of command. “Glad you could make it.”
Rowan nodded, taking a seat across from him. “Carlo,” he acknowledged, his tone polite but firm, as if weighing every word before it left his lips. “Let’s get to it. Time is money, and we’re running short on both.”
A slight smile tugged at Carlo’s lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He appreciated Rowan’s straightforwardness, or at least respected it enough to match it.
“Indeed,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. “We’re here to discuss the future of our operations. The balance of power in Italy has shifted, and we need to decide how to move forward.”
One of the other leaders, a burly man with a scar running down his face, spoke up, his voice gruff, laden with distrust. “Fifteen percent,” he said, looking directly at Rowan. “That’s what we’re willing to offer. Take it or leave it.”
Rowan didn’t flinch. He knew the offer was a test, a way to gauge his reaction, to see if he would show any sign of weakness.
But Rowan was not a man who would flinch. “Twenty percent,” he countered smoothly, his expression unreadable. “And I want assurances. If I’m going to risk my men and my resources, I need to know it’s worth it.”
The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The leaders exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them.
Carlo’s gaze lingered on Rowan, weighing his options. He knew Rowan was not a man to bluff, and he also knew the value of having Rowan as an ally… or the cost of having him as an enemy.
Finally, Carlo nodded, a slow, measured movement. “Seventeen percent,” he offered, a hint of a challenge in his tone to his authority. “And the assurances you ask for.”
Rowan considered it for a moment, his mind working quickly. Seventeen percent was less than he wanted, but it was more than he’d had before. It was a good start. “Deal,” he agreed, his voice steady. “But remember, gentlemen, I don’t make deals lightly. If you cross me, there will be consequences.”
The leaders nodded, a mutual understanding passing between them. They all knew the rules of the game, and they knew Rowan was not a man to be trifled with.
The tension in the room eased slightly, but the undercurrent of danger still remained.
With the terms agreed upon, the meeting continued, details being hammered out, plans being laid.
Rowan stayed focused, his mind sharp despite the pain throbbing in his shoulder. This was what he was good at… negotiating, maneuvering, finding the angles that others missed.
He had learned long ago that in their world, every man was an island, surrounded by sharks. The only way to survive was to be a bigger shark.
By the end of the meeting, Rowan had secured seventeen percent of the power in Italy, a significant gain that would strengthen their position. But he also knew this was just the beginning. There were still many battles to fight, many enemies to face. The underworld was always shifting, like a sea of knives, and one misstep could mean the end.
As they left Carlo’s villa, Harvey glanced at Rowan, his eyes filled with a mix of admiration and concern. “You did it,” he said quietly, as they walked back to the car. “You got what we came for.”
Rowan nodded, his expression still hard, unyielding. “It’s just a start,” he replied. “We have a long road ahead of us. And we can’t afford to let our guard down, not even for a second.”
Kyle glanced at Rowan from the driver’s seat as they climbed into the car, his eyes flicking to the bloodstained bandages on Rowan’s shoulder. “Boss,” he said cautiously, “You’re still bleeding.”
Rowan shook his head, his gaze fixed ahead, his mind already planning their next move. “I’ve had worse,” he said dismissively. “Keep driving. We have work to do.”
As the car sped away from the villa, the darkness of the city seemed to close in around them, a heavy shroud that hung over their world. There was no rest for men like them, no peace.
Only the constant struggle for power, the never-ending battle for survival.
They drove on, the city lights flashing by in a blur, each one a reminder of the lives they led, the choices they had made. Rowan’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, plans, and calculations. Every step had to be carefully measured, every move precisely calculated. One wrong step, and it could all come crashing down.
As they neared their next destination, a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, Rowan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A message from an unknown number. He opened it, his eyes narrowing as he read the words.
‘Do you think Amara is as safe as you think.’
Rowan’s jaw clenched, a wave of cold fury washing over him. His grip tightened on the phone, his knuckles turning white. Whoever sent this message knew how to get under his skin, knew exactly where to hit him to make him bleed.
“Boss?” Harvey asked, noticing the change in Rowan’s expression. “What is it?”
Rowan didn’t answer immediately. His mind was already working, formulating a plan, deciding on his next move. “Change of plans,” he said finally, his voice cold and hard. “We’re going back to the airport.”
Kyle glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his brows furrowing in confusion. “But Boss, we just…”
“I said we’re going back,” Rowan snapped, his voice brooking no argument. “Now.”
Kyle nodded, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal as he took a sharp turn, the car screeching as it changed direction. They sped back toward the airport, the tension in the car rising with every passing second.