Chapter 4 - The Brother's Audit
The private lounge on the thirtieth floor was a place built for executions of a different kind—corporate ones. The table was solid black walnut, surrounded by high-backed chairs that kept a man’s spine straight whether he wanted it to be or not.
When Gianni Moretti walked in, he was still wearing his tuxedo jacket, though his bow tie was undone, his face flushed from the champagne and the proximity to the city's political elite upstairs. He looked like a man who believed he had just won a horse race he hadn't even paid to enter.
"Dominic!" Gianni said, his voice booming in the quiet room as he reached for the crystal decanter on the sideboard. "The mayor is asking for you upstairs. The Blackwell girl is looking for you under the mistletoe. What the hell are we doing down here in the dark?"
Dominic was sitting at the head of the table, his fingers laced together under his chin. Marco DeLuca stood behind him, his broad shoulders blocking the exit, his right hand resting casually inside his jacket pocket. On the center of the walnut table sat a single item: my snapped plastic security badge.
Gianni’s eyes dropped to the badge, and the flush on his cheeks faded just a fraction, the color turning from wine-red to a dull, sickly gray.
"What's this?" Gianni asked, trying to laugh, though the sound died before it reached his teeth. "Some administrative garbage? Dominic, it’s New Year's. Leave the office work for the girls."
"Sit down, Gianni," Dominic said.
The tone was so quiet it made Gianni freeze mid-stride. He looked at Marco, who didn't blink, then slowly lowered himself into the chair opposite his brother, his hands twitching against his trousers.
"I’ve been looking at the third-quarter customs filings for the Calumet terminal," Dominic said, his gray eyes fixed on his brother’s face. "The ones Emma stayed late to finish tonight while you were upstairs drinking my liquor."
"Dominic, listen to me," Gianni began, leaning forward, his voice turning frantic. "The girl... she’s an outsider. She’s been digging into things she shouldn't be looking at. She’s been asking the harbor master about the secondary containers—the ones from the Naples shipment. I did you a favor, Dom. I cleared out a liability."
"A liability," Dominic repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "You sent two of your personal muscle from the south side to strip her badge, lock the garage, and force her out into a minus-fourteen-degree blizzard with no phone and no car. You didn't fire her, Gianni. You tried to murder her within fifty yards of my desk."
"She’s just a secretary!" Gianni roared, his frustration finally breaking through his fear. He slammed his hand onto the table, making the plastic badge jump. "She’s a nobody from Maine! Her father was a high school teacher, Dominic! You're letting a girl who makes sixty thousand a year come between the family? The Blackwells are looking at us for a multi-million-dollar distribution deal, and your secretary is two days away from finding out that the Naples containers weren't carrying olive oil!"
The room went completely still.
Marco DeLuca didn't move, but his jaw tightened until the bone showed against his skin. Dominic slowly unlaced his fingers and leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracking every line of panic on his brother’s face.
"The Naples containers," Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave. "The ones you told me were cleared by the Italian maritime ministry three months ago."
Gianni realized his mistake the instant the words left his mouth. His eyes darted toward the door, then back to the badge on the table. "Dom... no... I didn't mean... it was just a side venture. A little import business with the Chicago outfit’s remnants. We needed the liquidity to cover the Atlantic City losses."
"You used my shipping lanes," Dominic said, his voice rising now, a cold, hard mountain of sound that filled the room until the glass in the cabinets rattled. "You used my harbor clearances, my trucks, and my name to bring unvetted cargo into this city. And then you tried to freeze my executive secretary to death to cover the trail."
He stood up, his massive frame towering over his younger brother. He reached across the table, his hand wrapping around Gianni’s silk lapels with a force that ripped the stitching from the seams, pulling the younger man clear out of his seat until his feet were dangling inches off the Persian rug.
"You are my brother, Gianni," Dominic hissed, his breath hot against Gianni’s pale forehead. "Which means I won't put you in the lake. But as of twelve-o-one tonight, you don't own a share of Moretti Freight. You don't own a seat at this table. You don't enter this building without a guard at your back, and if I see your face within a mile of Emma Clarke again, I will let Marco show you what we do with corporate liabilities in the basement."
He threw Gianni back into the chair, the wood groaning under the impact. He looked at Marco.
"Take his keys, Marco. Take his phone. Put him in a car to his house in Lake Forest, and put two men at the gate. He doesn't leave the property until the audit on the Calumet terminal is complete."
"Dominic, please!" Gianni screamed as Marco dragged him toward the door by his arm, his shoes scuffing uselessly against the floorboards. "You can't do this! The family... Uncle Silvio won't let you strip my shares for a secretary!"
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The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest of his shouts.
Dominic stood alone in the center of the room for a long moment, his chest heaving, his hands still clenched into fists. He looked down at my snapped security badge on the table, picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket before turning back toward his private quarters.
