His Trophy His War
The Blackmail Play
The velvet curtains of La Vecchia Trattoria muffled the city’s noise, trapping the air heavy with garlic, smoke, and secrets. Russo sat alone in the corner, a glass of Barolo in his hand, his eyes fixed on the entrance.
The door creaked.
Sofia slipped inside, her black coat slick from the rain, her steps quick and nervous. She gripped a slim folder like it was the only thing holding her together.
Russo didn’t stand. He tilted his glass instead. “You’re late.”