Chapter 7 - Unearthing the Past
Back in the secure study of Adriano’s private penthouse, the fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the rows of leather-bound books. I sat in a plush armchair, a steaming mug of tea between my hands, while Adriano laid out thick stacks of historical documents across the mahogany table.
“My uncles—Victor and Salvatore Costello—were ambitious men,” Adriano explained, pulling up a chair opposite me. “Twenty years ago, your father discovered they were using the shipping lines to launder cartel money. He threatened to go to federal authorities. They staged the fire in Warehouse 4 to silence him and make it look like an industrial accident.”
“And you?” I asked, looking into his dark eyes. “Where were you when this happened?”
“I was twenty,” he said, his jaw tightening. “They kept me in the dark, grooming me to take over the legitimate side of the business while they ran the syndicate’s dark side. When I finally found out the truth five years ago, it was too late to save your father. But I spent every day since dismantling their network from the inside out.”
He tapped a finger against a legal deed stamped with government seals. “That’s why the $40,000 hospital bill wasn't a gift, Eliza. It was an installment. The shipping company your father helped build was legally incorporated under a dual-trust partnership. Half of everything the Costello Syndicate owns belongs by right to the Brennan estate.”
I stared at the papers. My mother had spent two decades believing her husband died as a broke, desperate laborer who made a fatal mistake on the job. Now, sitting across from one of the most feared men in the country, I learned my family was the rightful heir to half of Port Alder’s commercial waterfront.
“Why tell me now?” I whispered. “You could have kept it hidden. You could have run the empire alone.”
“Because I spent my whole life surrounded by people like Vanessa and Marco—people who only value power, status, and blood money,” Adriano said, leaning forward, his gaze intense and unblinking. “The first night I saw you on that balcony, trying to catch your breath while carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders... I didn't see an employee. I saw the only person in Port Alder who possesses the one thing I lost a long time ago.”
“What’s that?”
“A conscience,” he said quietly.
Before I could answer, the secure phone on the desk buzzed shrilly. Adriano picked it up, listened for three seconds, and his expression darkened into stone.
May you like
“What is it?” I asked.
“Vanessa Moretti,” Adriano said, standing up. “She didn't leave quietly. She went straight to her father and Marco’s loyalists. They’ve locked down the main corporate headquarters downtown, and they’ve called a full syndicate council meeting for sunrise. They’re planning a coup.”
