Chapter 5 - The First Strike
By seven o'clock the next morning, the war was already underway, but it was being fought with paper, not bullets.
I sat at Dante’s sleek dining table, a mug of black coffee steaming beside a stack of legal documents. Opposite me sat Elena Vance, the sharpest corporate attorney in the Midwest, whose retainer was funded by Dante’s shell corporations.
“It’s brilliant, Mrs. Moretti,” Elena said, reviewing the notarized family trust deeds I had secretly photocopied months ago and kept in a private safety deposit box under my maiden name. “Your father’s contract specifically states that if Roman Castellano commits moral turpitude or causes irreparable public dishonor to the Moretti name, operational custody of the shipping ports immediately reverts to you as the sole surviving heir.”
“And last night’s spectacle?” I asked.
“Two hundred witnesses, including three federal judges who were attending the charity wing of the hotel,” Elena replied with a crisp smile. “I filed an emergency injunction at six this morning. As of twenty minutes ago, Roman’s access to the southern freight yards has been legally frozen pending arbitration.”
Dante walked into the room, dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit. He poured himself coffee and leaned over my chair, resting one hand casually on the back of my seat. The proximity sent a subtle shockwave through my spine.
“Roman tried to raid my distribution hub in Cicero at dawn,” Dante said casually, taking a sip. “Sent eight of his boys with bats and gasoline.”
My breath caught. “What happened?”
“My guards were waiting. Three of his men are in the county lockup; the other five are on their way to the hospital with broken kneecaps.” Dante set his cup down and smiled, his eyes fierce. “He’s sloppy, Evelyn. He’s reacting with anger instead of strategy. That’s what happens when an arrogant man loses his leverage.”
“He won't stop with Cicero,” I warned, looking up at him. “Roman doesn't know how to lose. When the courts freeze his shipping lanes, he won't be able to pay the East Coast suppliers. That’s forty million dollars due by the end of the week.”
“Which is why he will attend tonight’s charity gala at the Drake Hotel,” Dante said. “The annual Antiquities Auction. The commission on the rare maritime artifacts goes to the Port Authority commissioners. He needs to kiss their rings to keep his informal permits active.”
“He wouldn't dare show his face after last night,” I muttered.
“Oh, he will,” Dante countered, bending down so his face was level with mine. His breath brushed my cheek, sending a sudden warmth racing through my veins. “He has to prove he’s still the alpha. He’ll bring Vanessa, pretend last night was just a minor marital spat, and buy a three-million-dollar necklace to show he’s swimming in cash.”
I leaned back, my eyes narrowing as an idea took root. “Then we shouldn't let him buy that necklace.”
May you like
Dante chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. “I like how your mind works, Mrs. Moretti. Elena, call the stylist. We need to dress my new partner for an execution.”
***
