Chapter 2 - The Shadow of Atlantic MeridianThree days after the kitchen encounter, Dominic Moretti sat in his private study on the third floor, staring at a thick dossier stamped with red ink: CLASSIFIED - INTERNAL AUDIT.
The study was dark, panelled in rich mahogany, smelling of old leather, expensive bourbon, and cold gunmetal. Outside, the Hudson River rolled gray and heavy under a blanket of winter fog.
His phone buzzed on the mahogany desk. It was Marcus Vance, his head of security and oldest confidant.
"Boss," Marcus’s voice crackled through the secure line. "We ran the background check on the new housekeeper, Sophia Bennett. Exactly like the agency said. Clean record, Yonkers native, husband died two years ago in a vehicle accident."
Dominic frowned, leaning back in his high-backed leather chair. "A single-car accident on Route 9W. Brake failure."
"That's what the police report says," Marcus replied, hesitation thick in his tone. "Except... I dug a little deeper into the husband. James Bennett. He wasn't just an ordinary accountant. For six months before he died, he was handling the offshore routing books for Atlantic Meridian."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. Atlantic Meridian. A shell company that had vanished into thin air the week James Bennett died. A company that had laundered over forty million dollars through Dominic’s own shipping ports without his authorization.
For two years, Dominic had been hunting the rat inside his organization—the traitor who had been skimming off his syndicate, feeding information to rival families, and trying to frame him for federal racketeering.
"Does she know?" Dominic asked, his voice dropping an octave.
"Sophia? No indication of it," Marcus said. "She lives hand-to-mouth. Medicaid for the kid, late notices on her electric bill. If James knew anything about the stolen millions, he didn't tell his wife. Or... she’s the best damn actress in New York."
Dominic looked toward the heavy oak door of his study. Downstairs, in the west wing, he could hear the faint, muffled sound of a vacuum cleaner and a child humming a little tune.
"Keep watching her," Dominic ordered. "And pull every financial record on James Bennett’s final months. Every phone call, every receipt, every breath."
"Will do, Boss. By the way... Vivian is coming by tonight. Her father wants to finalize the dock expansion agreements."
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Dominic’s expression hardened into stone. Vivian Romano. The daughter of Chicago mob boss Salvatore Romano. A political marriage designed to cement an alliance between two empires. Beautiful, ruthless, and entirely insufferable.
"Tell her to use the front entrance," Dominic said coldly, and hung up.
