Information

David’s POV

The sound of his footsteps announced him before the door creaked open. My older brother—Vicenzo—stood there, shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes carrying that restless fire that never seemed to die.

“I’m ready,” he said.

The words dropped like lead between us.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other as if he hadn’t just come demanding truths. My room smelled faintly of tobacco and leather-bound books, my haven, my retreat from his chaos. I let the silence stretch, watching his impatience grow like smoke choking a fire.

“Ready?” I echoed at last, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “Ready for what, brother?”

He stepped closer, the veins in his neck straining. “I’m ready to know who has the shipment.”

Ah. So that was it. His pride had finally bent far enough to seek my help. I folded my hands over my knee, enjoying the moment.

“And if I tell you?” I asked lazily. “What then? You’ll rush out there, guns blazing, and end up bleeding for cargo that might already be halfway across the world? You don’t need the name, Vicenzo. You need me. And I don’t work for free.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t snap the way he usually did. That told me everything—he was desperate.

“How much?” he asked.

I let the silence linger, tapping my finger against the armrest. “Three thousand dollars.”

He scoffed, half laughing, half sneering. “That’s pocket change.”

“Not to me,” I replied evenly. “It’s the price for my silence, my risk, my connections. You can either pay it or walk out of here blind, wondering which ghost is strangling your empire.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, pulled out his phone, and within seconds, I heard the buzz of my own device. The transfer had been made—just like that.

“Check your account,” he muttered.

I did. The money was there, neat and waiting. I smiled faintly, then looked back up at him. “You surprise me, brother. I half expected you to storm out in that temper of yours, accusing me of betrayal. But you sent it quickly. Perhaps you’re finally learning that my words carry more weight than your guns.”

“Spare me your lectures,” he said flatly. “Just tell me who has the shipment.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, voice dropping lower. “It’s Luther Lombardi.”

The name hung in the air, thick and heavy.

Vicenzo stared at me, his expression carved in stone. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides, but his eyes didn’t flicker. He just stood there, unblinking, like he was swallowing the truth piece by piece.

At last, he muttered, “How the hell did I not think that far?”

A dry chuckle escaped me. “Because you underestimated him. You assumed that because he already had his men, he wouldn’t dare take more. But Luther isn’t a man who stops when he’s full. He takes until there’s nothing left but bones.”

He cursed under his breath, pacing the room like a caged animal. “I thought about it… but it didn’t add up. Luther already carried his men. Why would he come after my shipment too?”

“Because that’s how power works,” I answered softly. “You take, and take, until your rival has nothing left to stand on. If you don’t, someone else will. You’re too busy fighting the fire in front of you to notice the gasoline spilling at your feet. That’s your problem, brother—you think only in battles, never in wars.”

His head snapped toward me, eyes blazing. “And you? What do you think you’re doing? Sitting in this room, watching from the shadows like a snake? You knew, David. You knew, and you sat here waiting for me to come begging.”

I didn’t flinch. “Knowledge is my weapon, Vicenzo. You can’t fault me for using it wisely.”

For a moment, the room buzzed with his rage. But then he stopped, breathing heavily, his eyes dropping to the floor. He hated needing me, but he knew he did.

I leaned back, my tone softening, almost brotherly. “Listen carefully. It’s better you pay the money, get your shipment and your men back. Don’t try to fight him on pride alone. If you don’t, you won’t just lose cargo—you’ll lose people. And when people start to feel double-crossed, they won’t forgive you. Not your men, not your partners, not even the families tied to you. You can’t afford that storm.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his silence saying more than his words ever could.

Finally, he straightened, mask slipping back over his face. “You’ve made your point.”

He walked to the door, hand tightening on the knob. His voice was quieter now, steadier, but I caught the edge of steel in it. “You’d better hope this information holds. Because if you’re playing me…” He didn’t finish the threat, but he didn’t need to.

I smiled faintly. “I don’t play with brothers, Vicenzo. Only with enemies.”

He looked at me one last time, then left the room quietly.

I listened to the fading echo of his steps down the hallway. Moments later, through the thin walls, I heard his voice—calm but clipped—as he dialed a number into his phone.

“Luther,” he said when the line connected.

And then the door shut behind him.

The war had only just begun.