Chapter 10
Giulietta looked down at the glowing screen.
The display did not show a local area code. It was an encrypted, multi-layered frequency originating from an offshore satellite relay in the North Atlantic.
She picked up the receiver, pressing the speakerphone button with the tip of her pen.
"Speak," Giulietta commanded, her low, controlled voice cutting through the quiet study.
A deep, cultured male voice answered through the speaker, accompanied by the faint, rhythmic hum of a private jet engine. The accent was American, but polished with the smooth, detached arrogance of international high finance.
"Donna Giulietta Marconi," the man said, chuckling softly through the static. "Allow me to congratulate you on your wedding day. Or rather... your coronation."
Giulietta’s eyes narrowed into twin shards of hazel flint. "Who is this?"
"An old friend of your father," the voice replied smoothly. "And a very interested observer of your morning's performance. You dismantled Warren and Preston Hale with remarkable surgical precision. I must admit, I underestimated you when your father passed."
"If you know who I am," Giulietta said, her tone dropping into that lethal, ice-cold register, "then you know that uninvited voices on my private line do not live long enough to finish the call."
"A fierce threat, Donna Marconi," the man chuckled again, entirely unfazed. "But Warren Hale was never the architect of your family's misfortune. He was merely an ambitious pawn who borrowed sixty million dollars from my consortium to finance his delusions of grandeur."
Giulietta froze, her fingers tightening around the pen. "What consortium?"
"The Sterling Syndicate," the voice answered, every syllable dripping with smooth, terrifying power. "Warren used our capital to fund the Rhode Island cell that took your brother’s life. He promised us fifty percent of the Atlantic logistics lines once your father's grief forced the merger. And now... you have seized those lines under the Marconi flag."
Silvio stepped closer to the desk, his hand drifting instinctively toward his shoulder holster, his jaw tightening as he recognized the name.
"The lines belong to my bloodline," Giulietta stated, her voice steady as an iron pillar. "And anyone who challenges my title will meet the same fate Warren met today."
"I have no doubt of your resolve, Donna Giulietta," the caller murmured. "Which is why I am not calling to demand the lines back. I am calling to inform you that my private charter just crossed into New York airspace."
Giulietta stood up from the desk, walking slowly toward the large windows. High above the distant skyline, a small silver jet cut through the golden afternoon clouds, descending toward the private tarmac at Teterboro.
"What do you want, Sterling?" Giulietta asked softly.
"I want what your father promised me twenty years ago in Rome, Giulietta," the voice whispered through the static. "The secret ledger buried beneath your grandfather's estate. The one Warren died trying to find."
The line clicked dead with a sharp, electronic chime.
Giulietta slowly lowered the receiver. The afternoon sun bathed her face in brilliant, radiant warmth, but her eyes were twin fires of absolute, unyielding resolve.
She turned to Silvio.
"Silvio," Giulietta whispered, her voice slicing through the quiet room like a diamond blade.
"Yes, Donna Giulietta?"
"Call the capos from Brooklyn, Queens, and Manhattan," Giulietta commanded, her jaw locking into granite. "Tell them to arm the perimeter at the docks and double the guard at the family vault."
May you like
She looked out at the descending jet, her hand resting firmly against her hip where her weapon was holstered.
"The Hales were just the rehearsal," Giulietta murmured into the quiet room. "The real war begins tonight."
