Dinner was served around a forty-foot carved mahogany table beneath soaring antler chandeliers. Vintage Barolo flowed into crystal goblets, and platters of prime dry-aged beef were carved by private chefs while armed guards lined the walls. Yet beneath the surface, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken rivalries and predatory calculation. As the dessert plates were cleared, Silvio Lucchese stood up, tapping his crystal wine glass with a silver fork to…
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