TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS
Ricci, a wiry Sicilian with a mop of black curls and a grin like a fox in a henhouse.
Enzo was a miracle with magnets and wires, a kid Jeremy had plucked from a Palermo gutter after he’d hacked a casino’s slots at nineteen—$50,000 in one night, all to feed his ma and six sisters. Jeremy paid his debts, gave him a lab, said, “Build me something.”
Now, Enzo’s fingers danced over a custom rig—coils, dials, a laptop humming with code.
“Electromagnetic pulse, boss’s orders,” he muttered, flipping a switch. A silent wave ripped out—cameras fried, lights popped, the watch house plunging into black.
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