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... table, a man in a sharp black suit leaned back in his chair, a thick cigar burning between his fingers. His gaze was sharp, calculating. This was Vincenzo Moretti—Don of the Reaper Mafia.

His voice was calm but laced with irritation. "Who the hell is screwing with our operations?"

Around him, powerful men sat in tense silence. These weren’t small-time criminals—these were the big shots. The ones who ran the streets from the shadows.

One of them, an older man with slicked- ...

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