Dawn painted the horizon in strokes of amber and crimson as Dante arrived at the port. The salty breeze wove through the damp wooden docks, mingling with the distant cries of seagulls and the bustle of workers unloading crates of cargo. Flanked by a few of his most trusted men, he walked with measured purpose toward an old warehouse where members of the ’Ndrangheta and a group of Albanian traffickers awaited him. It was a delicate meeting—a new route for smuggling arms was on the table, and any