The conference room was dimly lit, yet tension flared like fire among the men gathered around the massive mahogany table. Each man seated there was powerful—leaders of mafia families that had ruled for decades, some for centuries. But none commanded the fear and respect that Dante Calhoun did. He sat at the head of the table, silent, fingers steepled, his face an unreadable mask.The silence broke when Giovanni Lucchese, an old but shrewd mafia don, leaned forward.“Dante,” he said coolly, “the council demands an explanation.”Dante did not move. “For what?”“For the extermination of the four allied families,” Giovanni replied. “We’ve all heard the whispers. You didn’t even give them the chance to plead their case.”“They betrayed me,” Dante said simply, voice like ice. “Betrayal must be answered with blood.”“They questioned your leadership, not your authority,” said another don, Fabio Romano. “It was a debate, not a rebellion.”“They questioned me publicly,” Dante replied, his voice
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