Chapter 58: Illegal

Third POV

After leaving the quarters where Elia had been confined, Marco headed straight for the parking lot. There, Tony and James were waiting beside a black Benz. The moment Marco approached, Tony opened the rear passenger door for him. Marco got in without a word, and Tony and James quickly settled into the front seats, with James taking the driver’s seat. A few seconds later, the car sped out of the compound, leaving the guards at the entrance to resume their duties.

Inside the car, it remained quiet for a while as they drove through the morning traffic. Marco sat in the back seat, scrolling through his phone while Tony and James focused on the road ahead. Neither of them attempted to start a conversation, they dared not for reasons known to them. That was until Marco finally broke the silence.

"How long until the shipment gets to Italy?"

Without looking back, Tony replied, "A week at most, Don. Everything is being handled as planned."

Marco nodded as he fished out his phone from the pocket of his blue tuxedo suit jacket. He continued scrolling through the screen while speaking, his attention seemingly divided between the information in front of him and the conversation. "As soon as it arrives, inform me."

"Yes, Don," Tony replied promptly.

And that was it. The car went silent again, with no one making any further attempts to speak. Marco returned his attention to his phone, while James continued driving through the busy streets. They had long grown accustomed to this silence, so neither found it necessary to fill it with pointless conversation like before. Besides, there were more important things to worry about than whether the journey was too quiet.

They drove for about half an hour before finally coming to a stop outside a nightclub. Marco got out without waiting for assistance and headed straight for the heavily guarded entrance, leaving Tony and James to remain outside. The club was not yet open to the public, but that did not mean it was empty. Certain people had access to places that ordinary customers would never even know existed, and Marco was one of them. Or rather, he now owned them.

Once inside, the manager was already waiting for him. The man immediately bowed his head in greeting before gesturing for Marco to follow him. Without exchanging unnecessary pleasantries, Marco walked past him and headed toward the lift. The manager followed a few steps behind, careful not to get in his way.

Inside the club, it was darker than expected despite it being early in the morning. Only a few people were present, and slow music played in the background. The atmosphere was quiet enough for the occasional conversation to be heard, but no one seemed particularly interested in paying attention to anyone else. Everyone appeared occupied with their own business, and those who noticed Marco’s arrival were sensible enough to keep their observations to themselves.

Marco entered the lift, and the doors closed behind him. The manager let out a silent exhale, his shoulders relaxing slightly now that his responsibility had been fulfilled. Even the guards stationed outside the lift briefly watched him, but none said a word. They had seen enough to understand that asking questions was not part of their job.

On the other hand, inside the lift, which was descending toward an underground level, Marco took out a cigarette. He held it between his fingers without lighting it immediately, his gaze fixed on the changing numbers above the doors. He only lit it when the lift finally opened, revealing the underground establishment waiting beyond it.

As he stepped out, much louder noise greeted him. There were the voices of people talking, the occasional sound of machines, and the clatter of objects being moved around. It was not deafening, but it was considerably louder than the quiet club above. Down here was an illegal casino, one that operated without the usual restrictions and attracted people who preferred to keep their activities away from the public eye.

Marco took a puff of his cigarette as he passed the people gathered around the gambling tables. He did not stop to acknowledge anyone or bother looking at the games taking place around him. His attention was fixed on a particular table at the far end of the room, where three men were seated, playing cards. He headed straight for them, his expression giving nothing away.

Marco spoke no word as he pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. He simply rested his arm against the edge and glanced at the cards in front of the men, waiting for someone to address him first.

"If it isn’t the new Don," one of the men joked as he dropped his cards onto the table. He was an older man, probably past fifty, with enough experience to know when to make a joke and when to keep his mouth shut. His tone carried a hint of amusement, but his eyes remained on Marco, as though he was trying to determine what kind of man Marco was.

The other two men, who were considerably younger but probably in their late thirties, glanced at Marco before dropping their cards as well. One of them leaned back in his chair, studying Marco with open curiosity.

"Don Edoardo has hidden you well for years. You must be special," the younger man seated directly opposite Marco commented.

The cards were shuffled again, and as the other younger man dealt Marco his hand, he added, "Show us what you’ve got."

Marco looked down at the cards placed before him. For a moment, he remained still, studying them without showing any particular interest. Then he sat up and put out his cigarette in the ashtray, which was already filled with cigarette butts. He picked up his cards with one hand, while his other remained clenched beneath the table, close to his waist where a gun was tucked.

’Patience, Marco. Patience,’ he reminded himself inwardly.

The game began, and the three men continued conversing as they played. Sometimes they addressed Marco directly, but he remained silent for the most part, only nodding when necessary. He had no intention of revealing more about himself than he needed to, especially not to men who were practically business partners. Whatever their opinions of him, he had no reason to make himself comfortable in their company.

There were no rules in the world of the Mafia, at least none that could not be bent when money or power was involved. Still, sitting among these gambling addicts did not sit well with Marco. He had better things to do than waste his morning playing cards with men whose interests barely extended beyond their next win. If it were not for his plans for the future, he would never have bothered coming here in the first place.

After several wins, Marco finally rose from his seat and left the table with a subtle, "It’s been a pleasure."

The three men politely bid him farewell despite his aloofness, each offering a few words before returning their attention to the game. Marco did not bother looking back to see whether they had started another round. He had already spent enough time there, and there was no reason to extend his visit any further.

As soon as he was outside the building, Marco took out another cigarette and began smoking just beside the entrance. He stood there quietly, letting the smoke escape his lips as he watched the people moving around the parking lot. His expression remained as empty as ever, and there was nothing in his posture to suggest that he was in a hurry to leave. He continued smoking, seemingly content to remain there until he had finished.

He was halfway through the cigarette and was about to throw it away when he spotted someone. The sight made Marco’s otherwise empty eyes flicker with slight surprise, but the reaction disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. He did not change his expression or make any attempt to approach the person immediately. Instead, he continued standing where he was, observing the figure at the entrance leading to the parking lot.

Remaining as calm as usual, Marco began walking toward the person, whose face was once again hidden beneath a black cap. When he got close, he did not slow down or make any obvious effort to acknowledge him.

Instead, the man, Orso to be precise, stepped forward and deliberately collided his shoulder with Marco’s.

"Sorry," Orso muttered in a low voice before quickly walking away.

Marco did not look back at him. He continued toward the parking lot as though nothing had happened, but there was now a small piece of paper in his hand. He kept it concealed, making no attempt to unfold it while he was still outside. Anyone watching would have seen nothing unusual about the brief collision, and that was precisely how he intended it to remain.

He only opened the paper after getting into the car and waiting until James had driven away from the building. Making sure neither Tony nor James noticed what he was doing, Marco unfolded the small piece of paper and lowered his gaze to its contents.

And there, written in a few simple words, was the message: "Fabio is in the mansion. Talk to him."

Even as his gaze remained fixed on the paper for a whole minute, Marco’s expression stayed cold and empty, as though the words written there meant absolutely nothing to him. He read the message again without changing his expression, then slowly folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. Afterward, he looked up and resumed scrolling through his phone, completely and utterly devoid of any visible emotion.