Tabaqui Luciano

The heavy oak doors opened without a sound. The room beyond was quiet, lit by warm amber lamps and the glow of a fireplace. Shelves lined with old books and expensive whiskey framed a large mahogany desk. Behind it sat Don Vittorio Tabaqui. He didn't stand. He simply looked up from a chessboard, studying the newcomer with calm, steel-gray eyes. His tailored charcoal suit was immaculate, and a silver watch peeked from beneath his cuff. An untouched espresso rested beside him. For several seconds, he said nothing.