Before dawn | Dark romance

Chapter 55 - A game of thrones

luca's pov

Seated in my office, nestled in the heart of one of our main New York warehouses, I've kicked off the day's business while awaiting the exact details of our next meeting. These gatherings aren't just formalities; they're meticulously orchestrated displays of power and strategy—opportunities to forge alliances and quietly size up rivals.

I've been to countless such meetings, always a silent observer as my father decreed. He taught me that in our world, mastering negotiation and understanding power dynamics is everything. On the surface, we appear unified, discussing matters under the veneer of civility. But behind closed doors, the real game unfolds—a game where alliances are cemented with a handshake and shattered with a glance.

Draped in my finest Kiton suit, a testament to Neapolitan craftsmanship that exudes luxury and authority, I contemplate the delicate balance we uphold. Within these walls, we speak of diplomacy and mutual gain, but beyond them lies a world where every decision, every move, can tip the scales in our favor—or against.

My phone interrupts my thoughts. Swiftly, I answer and press it to my ear. "Yes."

"It's time. We've got a location," Dante's voice crackles through the line.

"Where?"

"Thomas Walker's mansion." He is old oil money, entrenched in the underground long before the other families caught on.

"I'll be there," I say sharply before cutting the call. Grabbing my documents, I slip into my suit jacket effortlessly and stride out of the office. I weave through the busy warehouse where my men are on duty. Luciano, always cool, leans against the car as I approach.

"Let's go," I command, and he opens the back door without a word.

I slide into the seat, and in no time, we're on our way. The Thomas Walker mansion looms just outside the city, a sprawling monument that makes even my parents' place seem modest. It's one of those grand old homes from a century past, dripping with wealth that even I hesitate to tally up.

Old man Thomas Walker hardly stirs from his bed these days. His grandson, also named Thomas, now runs the show. What a coincidence.

Traffic in New York miraculously parts for us today. We turn onto the mansion's long driveway, and it's like driving onto a movie set. The estate is buzzing, supercars parked like they own the place.

Luciano parks perfectly, hops out, and opens my door. I step out, purposeful, leading the way to the mansion's entrance with Luciano shadowing me. I ring the bell, and it tolls like a cathedral bell.

A snooty butler with a nose in the air meets me at the door. "Name," he demands, like he's the gatekeeper to some exclusive club.

"Luca Castellano," I say firmly, handing him my coat as I walk past him into the mansion's dimly lit foyer. The air inside is heavy with history and wealth, and I'm here to make an impression.

I can already smell the cigar smoke and brandy wafting through the house. The older men are congratulating themselves on their successes in their own little world. That's pretty much what they do for the first hour.

Entering the vast family room, I'm greeted by the sight of dark furniture and gleaming hardwood floors, the walls adorned with portraits that echo with lineage and legacy. It's a scene straight out of Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence, a novel I despise with a passion, yet here I am, embodying a character in my own right.

I find my brothers and Dante in a corner, chatting with some other men among the thirty or so people gathered here. I slip in unnoticed, blending into the crowd of conversations.