Chapter 9
By three o'clock in the afternoon, the estate had been completely secured under Marconi control.
The three hundred wedding guests had departed without incident, guided by the discreet efficiency of the city's highest-ranking capos. The catering staff had been paid and dismissed; the lavish buffet of oysters, caviar, and vintage champagne had been donated to local municipal shelters; and the fleet of black town cars had cleared the circular driveway.
Inside the grand master bedroom on the second floor, Giulietta had changed out of her wedding gown.
She now wore an impeccably tailored midnight-blue pantsuit cut from Italian wool, a crisp silk blouse unbuttoned slightly at the collar, and understated diamond studs in her ears. Her dark hair was brushed smooth, falling in elegant waves over her shoulders, her fair, rosy cheeks glowing with serene, untouchable authority.
She sat behind the massive antique mahogany desk, reviewing the consolidated financial ledgers of the newly absorbed Hale shipping routes.
A soft knock sounded at the double doors.
"Enter," Giulietta said without looking up.
Silvio stepped into the study, holding a secure satellite phone and a leather-bound folder.
"Donna Giulietta," Silvio said, his voice laced with profound, professional respect. "Preston has been delivered to the container terminal at Pier 14. The shift supervisor has put him to work on the midnight loading rotation."
"Did he cause any trouble?" Giulietta asked, signing her name at the bottom of a shipping manifest.
"None," Silvio replied with a faint smirk. "He cried the entire ride down the turnpike."
"And Warren?"
"En route to Vermont under heavy guard," Silvio confirmed. "The local sheriff has been notified that Mr. Hale is in strict private retirement. The property is completely dark."
"Good," Giulietta nodded, closing the ledger with a quiet, satisfying thud. "What about the Commission?"
Silvio set the leather folder onto the desk. "Don Castiglione released the formal syndicate bulletin twenty minutes ago. The Marconi family officially controls eighty-five percent of the commercial deep-water berths between Boston and Cape May. Your position as sovereign Don has been ratified without dissent."
Giulietta leaned back in the high leather armchair, looking out through the tall arched windows at the sprawling lawn below. The sun was beginning its slow, golden descent toward the horizon, casting warm, radiant amber across the manicured gardens where her wedding was supposed to have taken place.
May you like
"We did it, Leo," she whispered softly to the empty room, her hand gently touching a silver-framed photograph of her late brother resting on the corner of the desk. "The debt is paid."
Suddenly, the secure satellite phone resting on the desk began to vibrate with a sharp, low hum.
