| Glass & Sorrows | 18+ |

Chapter 2 - Inner circle

- Dante -

The last few weeks have been pure hell. Ever since the discussion for my new position within the family business, all the focus has been directed on my actions. But fuck it, I've never really been responsible in my life, 23 years of irresponsible decisions, and where has that gotten me? Exactly where I didn't want to end up. But of course, the great Vito De Loughrey chose me, his firstborn son, to be the heir to the family business.

Even though it was an honor to be the heir to the throne of the Segreto mafia, it was still a responsibility I didn't want to shoulder. But despite my attempts to avoid that seat, I apparently had no choice, which made me hate it even more.

The low hum of the city buzzed faintly above us, a constant reminder that the world kept moving, even when it felt like I was standing still. I flicked the ash from my cigarette as I leaned against the wall, watching it spiral to the oil-stained concrete floor of the parking garage. The dim overhead lights cast long shadows, pooling in the corners and stretching out like claws ready to drag you into the darkness. Fitting, really.

Fred was pacing, his boots echoing through the cavernous space as he checked his watch again. "Where the hell are they?" His voice cut through the silence, sharp with impatience.

"They'll get here when they get here," I replied, my tone flat. I wasn't in the mood for Fred's restlessness tonight, but then again, I was rarely in the mood for anything.

Fred shot me a glance, one that said he knew better than to push me but was tempted anyway. "You're always so damn calm, Dante. How do you do it?"

I took another drag from my cigarette, the smoke filling my lungs, grounding me. "Practice." It was the truth, though not the whole of it. Calm wasn't the same as indifferent, but I'd learned to blur the lines between the two.

Fred chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. "If it were anyone else making us wait, you'd be ready to put a bullet in their head."

"Maybe," I said, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. He wasn't wrong, but Angelo and Erik weren't just anyone. They were my closest allies, the only men I'd allow to make me wait without consequence. Trust was a rare commodity, and I wasn't about to waste it on just anyone.

But that didn't mean I enjoyed it. Patience had never been my strong suit, and the longer we stood here, the tighter the coil of tension in my chest wound. Business was done, the deal with Armando had gone well—better than expected, even—but that didn't mean I trusted him. Not yet, and maybe not ever. Vito had made sure I knew the cost of misplaced trust from the time I could walk. And trust wasn't something you gave lightly in our world.

Vito. Just thinking about him made my jaw clench. He was the reason I was here, the reason I was expected to step into shoes I never wanted to fill. The heir to the Segreto empire, the shadow in the dark. Not a son, but an extension of his legacy, a weapon sharpened to cut through anything that stood in the way. It was a title I never asked for, one I would've given anything to escape, but there was no getting out. Not in this life.

I glanced over at Fred, who was still pacing, his irritation palpable. He was good at what he did, the best, even, but sometimes his nerves got the better of him. "Relax," I said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "They'll be here."

As if on cue, the growl of an engine echoed through the garage, and the sleek, unmistakable lines of a wine-red Ferrari slid into view. The quality and color of the car speaks clearly for who its owner was, Angelo Vincent. He always had a flair for the dramatic, for making an entrance. The car came to a smooth stop beside us, the engine purring before falling silent.