Chapter 7 - The Ghost in the Office
Dante didn't answer Bianca immediately. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, watching in cold silence as she turned and walked out of the boardroom, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor.
He knew she had leaked the photos. He had known it since yesterday. Bianca was ambitious enough to burn down a cathedral if it meant she could be crowned queen of the ashes.
When the boardroom doors clicked shut, Dante sat alone in the vast, silent room.
He opened his laptop and pulled up a secure, encrypted folder labeled ISABELLA - PERSONAL.
Inside were hundreds of documents, notes, and strategic drafts Isabella had written over the past five years. As he scrolled through them, his chest tightened with a suffocating wave of regret.
Here was the original proposal for the New York shipping lanes that he had taken credit for at the board meeting in 2024. Here were the quiet, diplomatic notes she had compiled to keep peace with the aging capos who hated his modern corporate methods. And here, tucked away in a sub-folder, was a handwritten journal entry dated six months ago.
“Dante won another award tonight. He smiled for the cameras. He looked so happy. I stood in the back of the ballroom, feeling like a ghost in my own life. I wonder if he would even notice if I stopped breathing tomorrow. The empire is a monster that eats everything we are, and soon, there will be nothing left of us to save.”
Dante slammed the laptop shut. His hands were shaking.
The door opened softly.
Marco Bianchi stepped into the room, holding a single, heavy legal envelope bearing the stamp of a Vermont court.
"What is that?" Dante asked hoarsely.
"Served by courier ten minutes ago," Marco said, setting the envelope gently on the edge of the desk. "It’s not from Isabella’s divorce lawyers."
"Then who is it from?"
"Her brother, Julian," Marco said grimly. "And it’s not a legal filing. It’s a challenge."
Dante pulled the flap open and slid out a single sheet of heavy bond paper.
Dante, You built your kingdom on the assumption that everyone around you was disposable—your wife, your family, your loyalists. Isabella is safe, and she is never coming back to Boston. If you try to use the courts to take my niece away from her, I will personally release every unredacted financial ledger of Moretti Maritime’s past twenty years to the federal prosecutors. Consider this your final warning. — Julian Romano
Julian Romano.
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The name sent a chill straight down Dante’s spine. Julian wasn't a corporate lawyer or a corrupt politician; he was the head of the Romano shipping syndicate out of Montreal—a man who operated with the ruthless, old-world efficiency that Dante’s modern corporate empire had long forgotten.
If Julian released those ledgers, the federal government wouldn't just seize Moretti Maritime; they would dismantle every asset Dante owned, leaving him with nothing.
