Alessandro found Dante at his office on a Tuesday afternoon in late March.
He didn't call ahead. Didn't make an appointment. Didn't give Dante any warning that would allow him to prepare or deflect or have security ready. He just walked into Moretti Industries at four-fifteen PM and told the receptionist—a young woman who looked nervous the moment she saw his expression—that he needed to see Dante Moretti immediately.
"Do you have an appointment, sir?" she asked. Her hand was already hovering over the phone. Probably to call security.
"Tell him Alessandro Castellano is here." Alessandro's voice was cold. Controlled. "Tell him I know what he's been doing. He'll want to see me."
The receptionist made the call. Spoke in low tones. Her eyes kept darting back to Alessandro like she was afraid he might do something unpredictable.
