Cut by the Don
I knew exactly where to place the charges to bring the entire rotten structure down.
My personal phone buzzed, a separate, secure device. A single message from a blocked number. A pre-arranged signal from one of my grandfather's men, buried deep within the Rossi organization. It contained only two words: He knows.
Minutes later, a video feed from a camera disguised as a smoke detector across from Vincent's villa flickered to life on a secondary monitor. The image was grainy, but the agony was crystal clear, etched in the harsh lines of his body.