POV: DANTE
Rome looked exactly the same as when he'd left it.
That was the strange part. Dante had almost died in a warehouse in Jersey City. Had lost thirty-seven men. Had a bullet lodged near his spine that meant he couldn't walk without help. And Rome just... continued. Traffic on the Tiber bridges. Tourists at the Trevi Fountain. Life going on like nothing had happened.
Luca wheeled him through the private entrance of his estate, past the household staff who bowed their heads and didn't ask questions.
"Everything's exactly as you left it," Luca said, pushing the wheelchair down the marble hallway. "Operations never stopped. The drug routes are running. The protection money is coming in. Nobody in Rome knows what happened in New York."
"Good," Dante said. His voice was tight with pain, but the news settled something in his chest. He hadn't lost his empire. He'd lost men, lost blood, lost pride. But the business, the actual foundation of his power...was untouched.
