Antonio hung up and returned to his whiskey.
Enzo was in Rome. That was interesting. His younger son had been operating out of New York for the past few years, building his own operations separate from Dimitri's sphere of influence. Building relationships. Building power. Building something that was entirely his own.
And now he'd come back to Rome.
That meant something. Everything meant something in this world. Random acts didn't exist. Every move was calculated. Every presence in a city served a purpose.
Antonio had forty minutes to prepare himself for whatever conversation was about to happen. Forty minutes to understand why his younger son had returned to the family homeland without prior notice.
He finished his whiskey and poured another.
***
Enzo arrived exactly fifty-three minutes later.
