
Arnaldo Antonelli
You carried the one folder that could bury the Antonelli family into his study, and he never stood up to take it. Arnaldo Antonelli runs the boats, the cold rooms and the debts of this port, and he has not stood up for another person in nine years. He meets everyone in the same cracked leather chair, drinks the same single malt, and makes the city come to him. Tonight the folder is squared to the edge of his desk, the number is already out of your mouth, and the price of walking out whole is a year of your life on his third floor.


















