Page 93 of Beautiful Ruins
Marcello snorted into his drink.
Atlas’s mouth twitched faintly.
“She is not going anywhere in a hurry,” I finished.
Gianni stared at me.
“…That is the least romantic reassurance I have ever received.”
“It is practical reassurance,” I explained.
Marcello chuckled.
“He’s not wrong.”
Gianni grumbled something under his breath about traitorous cousins.
Atlas let the moment breathe before steering us back to the matter at hand.
“Chernov,” he reminded us.
The room refocused instantly.
“What are we looking at?”Atlas wanted to know.
“Regional dominance.He believes destabilizing us through indirect pressure points will fast-track his rise.His entry point, regrettably, is Nathan Azzopardi—the idiot who stole from them.”
Marcello’s expression hardened.
“He’s ambitious.”
“He’s miscalculating,” I scoffed.
Atlas steepled his fingers.
“If he is backing a debtor who targeted one of ours, then he is no longer a peripheral nuisance.He is an active threat.”
Gianni leaned forward now, fully engaged.
“So we respond.”
“Yes.The question is-how?”
Silence settled over the table as Atlas weighed the options.His mind moved in a methodical rhythm—strategic, precise, and deliberate.It wasn’t always obvious to outsiders, but the man was operating several steps ahead at all times.A genius, whether he cared to admit it or not.
“We do not react emotionally,” he said at last.“We do not engage publicly.And we do not allow a Russian outfit to believe they can test our boundaries without consequence.”
Marcello nodded once.
“Now we’re talking.”
Gianni’s eyes lit with cold satisfaction.
Atlas looked at me.
“Set up a meeting with Chernov.Somewhere remote where we can remind him that this region is not unclaimed territory.”
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