Chapter 8 - The Inheritance of Power
Within twenty minutes, the printing press was cleared. Marcone and his surviving lieutenants were zip-tied and loaded into the back of a federal transport van arranged quietly by Vittorio's private legal counsel, while Rocco and his men secured the perimeter.
Vittorio sat on an overturned wooden crate near the loading bay, wincing slightly as a medic patched the bullet graze on his shoulder with antiseptic and gauze. Elena stood a few feet away, wiping a smudge of black printer's ink off her thumb with a damp tissue.
"You missed your flight to Oyster Bay, Mrs. Moretti," Vittorio noted, his voice low and raspy as he looked up at her through the harsh light.
"I had business to finish in Manhattan," Elena replied, tossing the soiled tissue into a metal trash can. "And your books needed auditing. Honestly, Vittorio, your accounting is an embarrassment. I'm going to have to restructure your entire corporate portfolio if we're going to keep the IRS off our backs."
Vittorio let out a sudden, genuine laugh—a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to chase away the last remnants of the gunsmoke hanging in the rafters. He stood up, testing his injured shoulder with a grimace, and walked over to her until he was standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her coat.
"You realize," he murmured, his dark eyes glinting with a dangerous, profound respect, "that under New York state law, my assets are now fifty percent yours. Which technically makes you one of the most powerful women on the Eastern Seaboard."
"Good," Elena said, adjusting her collar with absolute composure. "Because Daniel’s mortgage is paid off, Sabrina has her tablet, and I am officially retiring from cleaning Tribeca townhouses. From now on, I manage the books."
Vittorio reached out, his warm fingers brushing a stray lock of graying hair from her forehead, his touch remarkably tender for a man who had just executed a syndicate takeover before breakfast. "As you wish, my love. But first, we need to go back to Pell Street."
May you like
"Why on earth would we go back there?"
"Because," Vittorio smiled darkly, slipping his arm around her waist, "we never actually filed your mother's death certificate. And since we're legally married, we might as well make sure the paperwork is clean."
