The rain began before dawn.

By morning, it had become a heavy, relentless downpour over the private Salvatore cemetery on the outskirts of the state. The narrow road leading to the burial grounds had turned to mud beneath the tires of the black sedans, and rainwater streame

The transition of power within the Salvatore syndicate was neither quiet nor bloodless.

Three weeks after Lorenzo Greco’s name was erased from the family ledgers, I found myself in the coastal town of Palermo, sitting on the sun-drenched terrace of the Moretti est

By Tuesday morning, the rain had cleared, leaving behind a cold, biting wind that swept across the city.

We had returned to our Manhattan headquarters—a sleek, minimalist office occupying the entire top floor of a glass skyscraper overlooking Central Park. Beyond the