Chapter 9 - The Empire’s New HeirSix months later, the New York tabloids had a field day with the front-page spread.
THE ICE KING’S PRINCESS: HOW A FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER TOOK OVER THE HARBOR.
The grainy photograph showed Norma Smith—now seventeen and wearing a custom-tailored charcoal wool coat that mirrored Joseph’s signature style—stepping off a private yacht alongside the feared mob boss. She wasn't hiding behind his shadow anymore; she walked shoulder-to-shoulder with him, her eyes sharp, confident, and utterly unshakeable.
Back at the brownstone, Caesar the French bulldog was living his best life, lounging on an imported Persian rug and gnawing on a solid gold chew toy Marco had jokingly bought him for his birthday.
Thomas Smith was no longer struggling to keep his boat afloat. His new commercial fishing fleet, The Norma S., was the largest and most profitable independent operation on the East Coast, operating under the ironclad protection of the Trevino syndicate. No rival gang dared even cast a shadow near his nets.
In the master study on Fifth Avenue, Joseph sat behind his heavy mahogany desk, reviewing financial ledgers. The door swung open without a knock—a privilege only one person in the world possessed.
Norma walked in, slamming a thick manila folder onto the desk.
"Rossi’s old associates in Queens are trying to muscle in on our shipping routes," she said, her tone sharp, authoritative, and entirely business-like. "They think because we’ve been quiet for a month, we’re losing our grip."
Joseph leaned back in his leather chair, a proud, amused smirk playing across his lips as he looked at the young woman who had transformed from a freezing girl on a stormy beach into the most formidable operator in the syndicate.
"And what do you suggest we do about it, partner?" Joseph asked, folding his hands over his chest.
Norma leaned forward, resting her palms on the desk, her eyes locking onto his with the exact same unyielding intensity he had carried for decades.
"We don't wait for them to make a move," Norma said, a dangerous, brilliant smile curving her lips. "We take their docks before sunset. Let’s show them who really owns the Atlantic."
May you like
Joseph stood up, raising his glass of scotch in a silent toast to the new queen of the harbor.
"As you wish, boss."
