Antonello Castellano's office overlooked the southern edge of Portovello through a wall of tinted glass. From the twenty-third floor, the city looked calmer than it really was.
Inside the office, the air smelled faintly of coffee and expensive wood polish.
Antonello sat behind his desk with one hand resting against the armrest of his chair while the other held his phone loosely to his ear. His expression remained composed, though the muscles around his eyes had tightened over the last ten minutes.
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Castellano," the man on the other side of the call said smoothly. "I simply don't see why my company should move resources into Akaka right now."
Antonello leaned back slightly.
"And yet two months ago you seemed very interested," he replied calmly.
A soft chuckle came through the speaker.
"Two months ago Portovello was still just Portovello."
Antonello's gaze drifted briefly toward the television mounted across the office wall. The screen showed repeated footage of that incident.
The businessman continued.
"You understand my concern, surely. The situation around your city is… unstable. And frankly, some of my associates won't like if I become connected to certain names tied to investments in Portovello."
Certain names.
Not hard to understand who he meant.
The man lowered his voice slightly.
"There are organizations I already maintain relationships with. Established groups. Reliable groups. People don't like uncertainty, Antonello."
Antonello loosened his tie slightly with one hand.
"Of course," he said evenly. "No one likes uncertainty."
Silence lingered briefly between them.
Then the businessman spoke again, careful now.
"This Vincenzo situation is loud. Too loud. Antonello, I prefer stability."
Antonello almost smiled.
For months this man had ignored consecutive calls from his office.
Now not only did he call him, he was even explaining himself.
Interesting.
"I understand," Antonello replied. "Then perhaps we should postpone discussions."
"That would be best."
Antonello's fingers tapped lightly once against the desk.
"You'll reconsider this one day."
The businessman laughed politely, though it sounded more restrained now.
"We'll see."
The line disconnected.
Antonello lowered the phone slowly onto the desk and exhaled through his nose.
The office fell quiet except for the television.
"—one-million-dollar bounty remains active as authorities continue their search for Vincenzo Moretti following the Portovello precinct bombing…"
The footage shifted again.
Smoke.
Crowds.
The blurred image of Vincenzo walking away moments before the explosion swallowed part of the station behind him.
Antonello rubbed a hand across his jaw.
The clip had spread everywhere.
Not just Portovello.
Not just Akaka.
Everywhere.
At first he thought the situation would collapse quickly.
A bombing that had almost the entire country's attention. No government would allow someone connected to it to remain free for long. Antonello had assumed the pressure would become unbearable within days. Arrests. Raids. Frozen accounts. Political distancing.
He had waited carefully.
Watched carefully.
If Vincenzo fell, the engagement would quietly disappear with him.
That had been Antonello's original plan.
Cold and practical.
He had no intention of tying the Castellano name to a doomed man.
But then the days passed.
And nothing happened.
No raid on the Moretti estate.
No arrests.
No sudden collapse.
Instead the opposite happened.
Vincenzo's name spread like wildfire throughout Akaka state, and even after everything that happened, the government still hadn't arrested him.
The situation had changed faster than Antonello expected.
People were beginning to compare Vincenzo to the larger organizations operating outside Akaka. Not because Portovello had suddenly become important, but because men capable of surviving this kind of public pressure usually had something powerful standing behind them.
And if that was true, then tying the Castellano name to him could elevate Antonello's position far beyond Portovello itself.
Of course, that possibility carried risks of its own.
Antonello understood that clearly.
Still, there was no going back now.
At this point, he could only hope Vincenzo truly had powerful backing behind him.
*RING RING RING*
A call appeared on his phone.
Antonello stared at the name briefly before answering.
"Mr. Castellano," a cheerful voice greeted immediately. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
This one came from a neighboring coastal city.
A man who had spent years pretending Portovello barely existed.
"Not at all," Antonello replied.
"I wanted to discuss future cooperation opportunities between our businesses."
Of course he did.
Antonello listened quietly while the man continued speaking about shipping routes, regional partnerships, and "future security concerns." None of it mattered.
The real meaning sat beneath the conversation.
Connection.
Access.
Curiosity.
Since the precinct incident, businessmen from outside this city had started paying attention to Portovello in a completely different way.
Because of Vincenzo.
Not because they admired him.
Because men in their world understood something important:
Anyone the government refused to touch had value.
And Antonello wasn't the only one receiving calls like this. Across Portovello, businessmen, property owners, and smaller organizations had started receiving unexpected interest from outside cities. Some wanted partnerships. Some wanted protection. Others simply wanted connections before the balance around Akaka shifted further.
Antonello ended the second call. His phone vibrated before he could place it down.
And this was before anyone even knew Vincenzo was connected to the Castellano family. Antonello had already prepared to reveal that with a grand party.
After ending another call, Antonello set the phone down just as his assistant entered quietly.
"Sir."
Antonello looked up.
"There are six more meeting requests for next week. Three from outside the state." She hesitated slightly. "And a representative from Nahur City has called twice personally."
Antonello's brows lifted faintly.
That group from Nahur City had ignored his proposals for almost a year.
"I see."
He loosened his cuff slightly before speaking again.
"Limit unnecessary meetings with outside groups for now. I don't want misunderstandings while the situation around the city is still unstable."
The assistant nodded immediately, clearly expecting that answer.
She placed several folders on the desk.
"There's also increased media interest regarding local business ties connected to Portovello."
"Decline interviews."
"Yes, sir."
She paused near the door.
"The city feels tense today."
Antonello glanced toward the television again.
Outside the office windows, he could already see larger crowds moving through the streets below compared to normal afternoons.
The assistant lowered her voice.
"People keep discussing Moretti everywhere."
Antonello gave a slight nod.
After she left, silence returned once more.
He loosened his tie further and stood from behind the desk, walking slowly toward the window.
Down below, Portovello moved differently now.
News vans near intersections.
More police vehicles.
Pedestrians gathered around phones and storefront televisions.
Antonello rested one hand in his pocket.
Power mattered.
Not morality.
Not public outrage.
Those things faded quickly.
But influence people believed in? That changed behavior immediately.
And right now, the country believed Vincenzo Moretti stood above consequences.
Antonello's gaze hardened slightly.
More importantly, people were beginning to suspect Vincenzo was connected to forces operating beyond Akaka itself.
Antonello himself had started wondering the same thing.
He thought briefly about Sofia.
Only briefly.
The situation around her had become irritating lately. Emotional tension inside the house. Martha growing frustrated. Emily becoming increasingly sensitive whenever Sofia's name surfaced.
Sofia herself had changed these past two weeks.
Quieter.
Detached.
Antonello disliked complications inside his own home.
He understood why Sofia was behaving this way. And perhaps, under different circumstances, he might have felt some pity for her situation.
But would it have changed anything?
No.
The arrangement would still move forward regardless.
The engagement had never been about emotions.
It was an arrangement.
A useful one.
And usefulness mattered more than comfort.
His phone vibrated again.
Another message.
Another businessman.
Another polite attempt to reconnect.
Antonello stared at the screen for several seconds before setting the phone down again.
Two weeks.
That was already longer than he should have delayed.
Especially after Vincenzo personally sent the address.
The thought still felt absurd.
A wanted man calmly sharing his residence the same day the entire country watched a precinct explode behind him, as if there was nothing to fear from the government.
Antonello opened his drawer slowly and removed the folded paper.
The ink remained crisp across the expensive stationery.
Moretti Estate.
Simple.
Direct.
Antonello looked at it quietly.
Either Vincenzo Moretti was reckless beyond reason…
Or he understood something the rest of the city did not.
Antonello suspected the second possibility more each day.
The television changed segments again.
Online footage now.
Thousands of comments scrolling beneath Vincenzo's image.
People argued endlessly about whether he was a terrorist, criminal, mastermind, cartel proxy, or political creation.
But none of them changed one reality.
He was still outside.
And every additional day increased the weight of his name.
Antonello folded the paper carefully and slipped it into his coat pocket.
Enough waiting.
He had already delayed long enough after Vincenzo's message.
If he delayed further, Vincenzo might interpret it as hesitation.
Or worse — disrespect.
Men connected to violence rarely appreciated uncertainty from business partners.
Antonello picked up his keys and stepped out of the office.
Employees straightened subtly as he passed through the executive floor.
The elevator ride down felt unusually long.
By the time he reached the lobby, rain had started outside.
Light.
Cold.
The city streets looked darker beneath the clouds.
Antonello's driver opened the rear car door immediately.
As the car moved through Portovello, fragments of conversation drifted through partially opened windows at intersections.
"…they still haven't arrested him…"
"…is he Triple A proxy…"
"...all of them are worse anyway..."
"...cartels like those don't usually hide behind proxies..."
"…that video looked unreal…"
"…police announced another search operation…"
Even people trying not to discuss Vincenzo eventually returned to the subject.
Antonello watched the streets quietly from the backseat.
Two weeks ago Portovello had been a small city with small ambitions.
Now outsiders were watching it carefully.
Watching him carefully.
The car turned away from the business district and toward the hillside roads beyond the city center.
Toward the Moretti estate.
Antonello adjusted his cuffs once before leaning back into the seat.
The hierarchy around Portovello was changing.
And for the first time in years, Antonello intended to move with it instead of behind it.