Knives On The Table
Alessandro stepped out, sharp as ever in a navy-blue suit tailored to perfection. He walked toward them slowly, his shoulders high like he owned the skyline. He slipped off his jacket with calculated ease, draped it over the back of the chair across from Adriano, and sat down.
For a moment, no one spoke. Just quiet, piercing stares passed between the oldest and youngest Greco brother—icy, unmoved, tense as drawn wire.
Then Alessandro turned to Gabriele. “Good evening, Gabe.” His voice was smooth and casual.
His eyes shifted to Adriano. “Little brother,” he added with a smirk.
Adriano’s jaw tensed, his green eyes narrowing slightly but he said nothing.
“You’re late, Sandro. We agreed to meet here at seven sharp.” Gabriele said.
Before Alessandro could respond, the waitress approached, smiling politely. “Gentlemen, may I take your orders now?”
Adriano and Gabriele each picked up their menus.
But Alessandro was already reaching into his jacket pocket, retrieving a sleek silver cigarette case and a golden lighter. He flicked it open, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.
“Sir, I’m sorry,” the waitress said nervously. “You can’t smoke in here—”
Alessandro didn’t even glance at her. “It’s either you take our orders or get the fuck outta my face,” he said, puffing calmly, smoke curling from his lips.
“Sandro!” Gabriele whisper-yelled, elbowing him. “Come on.”
“What?” Alessandro replied, scanning the room. “I don’t see a fucking sign.”
“Why the fuck do you always have to be such an asshole,” Adriano muttered.
“Excuse me?” Alessandro’s voice was dripping with mock amusement. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me right the first time. You're a fucking asshole.”
Alessandro slowly unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves with exaggerated patience. The smile never left his face.
“Enough,” Gabriele snapped, raising both hands. “Jesus Christ, it hasn’t even been five minutes.”
The tension clung thick in the air like the cigarette smoke. Gabriele turned to the waitress, apologizing with a practiced smile. “Sorry about that. I’ll have the filet mignon, medium rare.”
Adriano added, “The duck. And a glass of whatever red wine you’re serving with it.”
Gabriele turned to Alessandro. “And you?”
Alessandro blew out another puff. “Anything’s fine.”
Gabriele sighed and pointed to a dish on the menu. “He’ll take the veal. He likes veal.”
The waitress gave a tight nod and left.
The silence returned.
Gabriele leaned forward slightly, folding his hands. “You both know why I wanted this dinner. We’re family. We're bound by blood. And in this corrupt, criminal underworld we live and deal in, if we as brothers, can’t have each other's backs, if we’re divided—then we’re already fucking dead.”
He looked between them. “I know things are tense between the two of you right now but—”
Alessandro cut in, cold and sharp. “Tense? This isn’t tension, Gabriele. This is the result of Adriano’s bullshit.”
Adriano let out a dry laugh.
“He’s reckless. He’s stubborn. He doesn’t fucking listen,” Alessandro snapped. “Padré tells him to move slow, he moves fast. Padré says keep a low profile, he pulls a federal heist. Padré disbands his crew, he builds a new one just to undermine him. For fuck’s sake—you robbed a federal bank.”
“It worked,” Adriano muttered.
“Did it?” Alessandro shot back. “You couldn’t even put on a fucking mask. You brought attention, heat, pressure—now we’ve got the feds breathing down our necks. Because of you, Padré lost a billion-dollar arms deal with the Russians.”
Adriano looked away, jaw clenched.
“One billion fucking dollars,” Alessandro repeated. “And instead of putting a bullet in your skull, Dad protects you. Still calls you ‘his boy.’ And you run around crying that “Daddy hates me” “Daddy doesn't respect me” “Daddy only cares about my older brothers.”
Adriano stayed silent.
“And then,” Alessandro continued, “there’s that fucking whore you parade around town with.”
Adriano was up in an instant, his chair screeching back. He pointed a finger directly at his brother.
“Do not bring Diamond into this. And if you call her that again—”
Gabriele was already up too, pushing Adriano back by the chest. “Adriano—Adri, please sit down.”
Alessandro scoffed and turned toward the skyline, cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Please,” Gabriele pleaded. “Just… sit.”
Adriano reluctantly dropped into his seat, fists clenched.
That’s when the food arrived. Three servers placed the dishes before them, along with fresh wine. The clinking of cutlery and the murmur of the staff quickly disappeared as they left the brothers alone again.
“Let’s eat,” Gabriele muttered.
The food was good—but the tension remained thick as concrete. Alessandro picked up a knife, stabbing his steak, cutting it slowly while staring at Adriano.
Adriano mirrored him—taking a deliberate bite, chewing while his eyes stayed locked.
Gabriele noticed this then cleared his throat to try and ease the tension in the atmosphere. “Sandro, Adri, is the food to your liking?
“Food’s fine,” Adriano said dryly.
“Delicious,” Alessandro said with the fakest grin possible.
Gabriele cleared his throat. “Adriano, I talked with Alessandro the morning after… after he put you in the hospital.”
Adriano didn’t look up.
“I’m not asking you to apologize,” Gabriele said, “but what you said to him that night… it wasn’t okay.”
Adriano looked up slowly. “And what he’s been doing to me since we were kids is okay?”
Gabriele sighed. “Please don’t bring up the past.”
“You mean his past? The shit he did to me?” Adriano snapped. “You always do this—trying to play peacemaker but really just defending him.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really?” Adriano’s voice rose. “You just did it now. Telling me not to bring up the past like I’m the problem. Telling me not to apologize but still saying what I said was wrong. Did you ask him to apologize for putting me in the fucking hospital?!” His fist slammed the table, silverware jumped.
“Adriano, calm down.” Gabriele said.
“I am calm,” Adriano replied, his voice dangerously low. “This is calm for me. But if you're trying to make me forgive Alessandro just to maintain whatever sort of relationship we have left, then it’s not gonna—”
“I’m sorry.”
The words stunned the table. Adriano froze, his mouth slightly hanging open as he turned to face Alessandro.
“What?”
Alessandro placed his utensils down. “Didn’t hear me the first time? I said—Mi dispiace.”
He leaned back, took a slow sip of wine. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”
Gabriele looked between them, stunned—but not speaking.
Alessandro let out a quiet chuckle and picked up his steak knife again, turning it between his fingers like it was a treasure. “But…” he said, pausing dramatically, “cross me again, and I swear to God that’ll be the last day you walk this earth.”
Adriano shot up again. “Motherfucker.”
Alessandro stood too, face hard, eyes murderous.
“Hey, hey—both of you! Stop!” Gabriele barked, grabbing both their shoulders but neither of them budged. Alessandro and Adriano just stood there, glaring into each other's souls, burning circles into each other's skulls. And that’s when it happened.
A flicker of red danced across Adriano’s forehead. A laser dot. Tiny. Precise.
Alessandro’s eyes caught it.
At first, his mind didn’t register it because he was too caught up in the emotions but then, the realization struck him like a lightning bolt.
“ADRIANO, MOVE!” Alessandro shouted.
In one motion, he lunged, tackling Adriano down just as a bullet shattered the rooftop glass. The waitress approaching with a tray fell before she could scream. A clean shot. Bullet through the face.
Blood pooled. Glass exploded.
Screams tore through the air. Staff ducked and fled.
Another gunshot fired. Then another, and another.
Automatic fire rained down on the rooftop from above. Gabriele dove to the floor and flipped their dinner table, crouching behind it for cover.
“FUCK!” he shouted.
Alessandro grabbed Adriano, pulling him up and diving behind another table, flipping it just as more bullets splintered wood.
Breathing hard, the brothers found themselves huddled behind makeshift shields, covered in expensive food and broken crystal.
Alessandro glanced at Adriano. Their eyes locked again—not with hate this time, but with something else.
Adrenaline. Survival.
The air was thick with smoke, blood, and gunpowder.
And the Greco brothers? They were under attack.