The city beneath him buzzed like a restless beast….horns, sirens, neon lights slicing through the fog…but up here, high above Manhattan’s chaos, everything was silent, cold, controlled and untouchable.
The top floor of the De Luca tower was all black walls and silence. A sleek empire in steel and leather. The scent of aged bourbon lingered in the air, mingling with power and polish. Not a single item cluttered the massive desk; just a crystal tumbler of half-finished bourbon and a matte-black phone. Everything about this room screamed domination.
And seated behind the desk, a king without mercy…. Vincenzo De Luca.
Thirty-two. Italian American blood. Asian stock mogul by name, underworld emperor by n
