A tangled web of lies

Carlo was hunched over his desk, brow furrowed in concentration when the door to his study burst open. Antonio, his right-hand man, barged in, his face a mask of barely contained worry. 

He was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, but even his usual swagger seemed dimmed. His green eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, flickered with something close to fear.

"Don," he rasped, his voice rough with urgency. He hesitated for a moment, then forced himself to meet Carlo's gaze.

Carlo didn't look up, not right away. He gripped his pen tighter, the urge to twitch a war with the need to appear calm. 

"What's wrong, Antonio?" he finally asked, his voice strained.

"It's Dante Giovanni," Antonio blurted out, his composure cracking. 

"He sent a message, and...it's bad, Don. Worse than anything before."