A Name He Shouldn’t Know

[Salvo's Pov]

I turned to leave, the scent of danger trailing behind me like the cologne on my jacket.

And then—

"My, my… what a lovely coincidence, Salvo."

That voice. That oily, condescending, sugar-laced venom of a voice.

I stopped mid-step.

I didn't need to turn to know who it was. The only thing that made my day worse than Alfio's silence was Don Carlo's voice in my f**ing ears*.

I turned anyway. Slowly. Because men like me don't flinch.

He stood near the bar like he owned it, wearing a silk suit stitched by trembling hands in Milan, probably dyed in someone's blood. Rings sparkled on his fingers—each one a trophy, a threat, a memory.

He smiled like we were old friends.

But Don Carlo's smile was a loaded gun disguised as a kiss.

"A coincidence?" I scoffed, stepping forward. "In my place?"

I let out a slow, dry chuckle.