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

Thursday evening arrived with a heavy downpour that slicked the streets of Manhattan in shimmering neon light.

In the dining room of my penthouse, a long mahogany table was set for three. Crystal stemware, silver cutlery, and fresh white orchids decorated the polished wo