Chapter 7 - The Syndicate’s TargetThree weeks later, the internal structure of Rosetti Holdings had been completely gutted and rebuilt from the ground up under Adelaide’s ruthless, unyielding supervision.
She had fired twelve corrupt middle managers, automated the port tracking systems, implemented real-time biometric scanning for all dockworkers, and recovered over two million dollars in frozen assets from Dante’s offshore accounts.
The employees didn't call her "the waitress" anymore. In the hallways of the Midtown skyscraper, they spoke of her in hushed, reverent tones as The Iron Ledger.
She had moved her mother into an even better suite, bought a sleek new wardrobe, and even started sleeping a full eight hours a night for the first time in a decade. But working for the most feared mafia boss in Manhattan came with a very specific, lethal price tag.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Julian Vance burst into Adelaide’s corner office without knocking, slamming a manila folder down onto her desk so hard the coffee mug rattled.
"We have a problem," Julian said, his face drained of color.
Adelaide didn't look up from her dual monitors, her fingers still clicking rhythmically across the keyboard. "If it's the Port Authority compliance audit, I already filed the paperwork with the commissioner's office."
"It's not the Port Authority," Julian said, his voice dropping to a tense, hurried whisper. "It's the Commission."
Adelaide stopped typing. She slowly turned her head to look at him. "The five families commission?"
"The very same," Julian said, pulling out a photograph from the folder and dropping it onto her keyboard. "An hour ago, a package was delivered to Maxim’s penthouse. Inside was a severed courier pigeon and a formal arbitration summons. The old guard—headed by Salvatore Moretti out of Staten Island—isn't happy that Maxim cleaned house on the docks without running it past the council."
Adelaide looked at the photograph, then up at Julian. "Why is that our problem? Maxim is the boss."
"Maxim is the boss of his family," Julian corrected grimly. "Moretti controls the unions, the sanitation contracts, and half the judges in Brooklyn. Moretti views our new automated tracking system as a direct threat to his illicit supply chains. He’s demanding that Rosetti hand over control of the Red Hook terminals to his own crews... or face a full-scale corporate and territorial war."
Before Adelaide could answer, the secure intercom on her desk buzzed sharply.
May you like
Maxim’s deep, calm voice filled the room.
"Adelaide. My office. Now."
