Chapter 11 - The New Hierarchy
The penthouse loft overlooking the Port Mercer harbor hummed with a quiet, efficient energy that felt worlds away from the chaotic kitchen of Leto. Three computer screens glowed on Nora’s desk, flashing real-time cryptographic logs and maritime shipping manifests.
Roman Vale stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass window, swirling amber bourbon in a heavy crystal tumbler. The city lights blinked far below like distant stars, indifferent to the shifting tides of power in the underworld.
“The Alied brothers are safely out of state, and their eastern syndicate contacts have gone silent,” Roman said without turning around. “Which means our friends across the sea are looking for a new proxy to control the docks.”
Nora didn’t look up from her screen, her fingers dancing rhythmically across the mechanical keyboard. “Let them look. The firewall algorithms I installed this morning block any unauthorized proxy requests from Delaware or Beirut before they even hit the port authority’s primary servers.”
Roman turned, his pale eyes tracking her with a mixture of professional respect and quiet fascination. “You transitioned from civilian service to criminal logistics with alarming ease, Nora.”
“Survival is a versatile skill set, Mr. Vale,” she replied, leaning back in her ergonomic leather chair and stretching her arms over her head. “Though I must admit, the lighting here is vastly superior to the employee locker room at Leto.”
A low, dry chuckle escaped Roman’s throat. He walked over to the desk, placing a fresh cup of dark roast coffee beside her keyboard. “David Mercer has been cooperative, by the way. He packed his things, surrendered his lease on the restaurant, and moved three states west to live with his mother. He won’t be bothering anyone in Port Mercer again.”
Nora stared at the steaming coffee cup for a moment before looking up at him. “You didn't break his legs?”
“Violence is an inefficient tool when a simple eviction notice achieves the exact same result,” Roman said smoothly. “Besides, I needed a manager who wouldn't panic at the sight of a spilled glass of wine. I was thinking of expanding our operations downtown, and I’ll need someone to oversee the front-of-house logistics.”
May you like
Nora raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering me a restaurant, Roman? Or a front company?”
“A legitimate establishment,” Roman replied, his voice dropping into a softer, more deliberate register. “Where no one speaks to you in a language they assume you don’t understand.”
