Chapter 4 - The Clean Sweep of the Docks
By nine o'clock that morning, the rain had stopped, leaving Manhattan glistening under a cold, metallic winter sun. Inside the high-security conference room of Romano Enterprises on the sixty-fifth floor of the Freedom Tower, twelve men sat in absolute silence. They were the captains of the city’s shipping unions, the heads of the logistics firms, and the senior enforcers who managed the borders of Dante’s territory.
Dante stood at the head of the long obsidian table. He had changed into a dark charcoal suit, his tie perfectly knotted, his hair slicked back. He looked every bit the billionaire executive, but the expression on his face belonged entirely to the streets.
“Six years ago, we were told the Moretti family had relocated to Chicago,” Dante said, his voice flat, dropping like iron weights into the quiet room. “We were told the Brooklyn docks were clean. Today, I discovered that the Morettis have been operating a secondary extortion network through the residential tenement blocks in the South Bronx. And they’ve been using information provided by my late uncle Silvio to target people under my personal protection.”
He slammed a thick leather folder onto the obsidian surface. The impact sounded like a gunshot.
“I want every property owned by Moretti Holdings audited by noon,” Dante ordered. “I want their construction permits pulled by the city council. I want their shipping containers held at the Newark terminal for mandatory federal inspections. And I want their current head, Leo Moretti, brought to my warehouse in Long Island City before the sun goes down.”
One of the older union bosses, a man named Vincent, cleared his throat nervously. “Dante… Leo Moretti has connections with the state senate. If we hit his logistics lines directly, it’s going to cause a port strike. It’ll cost us millions in delayed cargo.”
Dante leaned over the table, his green eyes locking onto Vincent’s with a terrifying, absolute focus. “I don't care about the cargo, Vincent. I don't care about the millions. They targeted my daughter. They starved the woman I love until her lungs failed. If the ports have to burn to clear out their rats, then light the match yourself.”
No one else spoke. The sheer weight of his resolve filled the room, crushing any thought of resistance. The captains stood up, collecting their folders with hurried, quiet movements, eager to leave the presence of a man who had dropped his civilized mask to reveal the monster beneath.
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As the room emptied, Frank entered from the side door, holding a small pink tablet. “Boss, the hospital called. Emily is awake. She’s asking for her jacket—the one you wrapped her in last night. She says she won't eat her breakfast unless 'Mr. Dante' tells her it’s safe.”
Dante’s sharp features softened by a fraction of a millimeter. He picked up his coat from the back of the chair. “Keep the pressure on the ports, Frank. I’m going back to Mercy General. My daughter is waiting for her breakfast.”
