Chapter 7 - The Accounting of Alberto Rossi
The Port of Chicago terminal at 6:15 AM was a frozen, industrial wasteland. The massive shipping cranes stood against the graying sky like giant iron skeletons, and the black water of Lake Michigan lapped violently against the concrete piers.
Inside Warehouse 14, the air smelled of salt, diesel oil, and rust.
Alberto Rossi sat in a metal chair in the center of the vast, empty space, his hands tied securely behind his back with heavy zip-ties. He was a man in his late sixties, with a thick neck, a bald head, and the expensive silk suit of a classic mob boss—though the suit was currently stained with grease and road dust. Around him stood twelve of Matteo Valentino’s best men, all of them holding tactical rifles, their expressions completely blank.
Matteo stood five feet away, his long black coat open, his hands resting on the silver handle of his custom cane. The rising sun was just beginning to cut through the high, dirty windows of the warehouse, casting long, sharp shadows across the concrete floor.
"You're getting old, Alberto," Matteo said, his voice echoing in the vast space like a tolling bell. "You allowed a twenty-three-year-old dispatcher to hold the keys to your entire multi-million dollar shipping network because he was sleeping with your niece. You forgot that in this business, a man who compromises his loyalty for his vices is a leak waiting to happen."
Alberto spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, his old eyes glaring up at Matteo with a venomous, ancient hatred. "You think you’ve won, Valentino? You think because you stole a flash drive from a low-level punk, you own the North Side? My crews will tear your family apart brick by brick before noon."
"Your crews are currently being processed by the federal authorities at the 18th Street terminal, Alberto," Matteo said smoothly, pulling his encrypted phone from his pocket. "The moment your dispatcher gave me the decryption codes at four o'clock this morning, my legal team forwarded the secondary ledger to the Department of Homeland Security and the Coast Guard Compliance Bureau. As we speak, every asset registered to Rossi Logistics is being seized under the federal maritime anti-terrorism statutes."
Alberto’s jaw dropped, his face turning an ugly, chalky shade of gray. The realization that his entire empire had been dismantled not through a street war, but through a systematic digital audit, seemed to crush the final remnants of his spirit.
"You... you gave the codes to the feds?" Alberto whispered, his voice trembling. "That’s a violation of the commission rules, Valentino! We handle our own business!"
"The commission rules apply to men who respect boundaries, Alberto," Matteo said, stepping closer, his gray eyes darkening until they looked like black ice. "But you crossed a boundary tonight that I do not negotiate on. You deployed an armed hit crew against an armored vehicle containing a five-year-old child under my protection."
He leaned down, his face inches from the old mob boss's, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly quiet whisper.
"I am a businessman, Alberto," Matteo said. "I can tolerate theft. I can tolerate territorial disputes. But I do not tolerate animals who hunt children. You are going to sign the title transfers for your remaining unencumbered real estate holdings in Pilsen over to a private land trust managed by my firm. And then, you are going to take your retirement in a non-extradition villa in Sicily. If I see your face or hear your name in the state of Illinois after today, I won't use the feds, Alberto. I’ll use the lake."
May you like
He nodded to Antonio, who stepped forward with a stack of legal documents and a silver pen.
"Sign the papers, Alberto," Matteo commanded quietly, turning his back to walk toward the exit. "The sun is coming up, and I have an appointment with a lady."
