Mafia

Espresso dark, the morning air lay thick
Beyond the narrow alleys of Palermo's heart,
Where silk-suited men moved swift and slick,
Their laughter sharp as stilettos, playing their part.
No flashing neon, just a quiet stare
From eyes that weighed the cost of every word,
A favour asked in whispers, thick as tar,
A debt recorded where no ledgers were preferred.
The organisation breathed in every glance,
In the paused step, the cigarette's slow glow,
In the silence where defiance took its chance
And found it met with absent, chilling woe.
Not crowned in gold, but shadowed, sharp, and lean—
The truest power lives in what's unseen.