Chapter 5 - The Price of Disrespect
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Sophia studied Victor Moretti with cold, calculating eyes.
“I am done with mafia wars, Victor.”
“I spent three years being a ghost in a mansion built on graves.”
Victor reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a sealed manila folder.
He held it out toward her in the cool morning air.
“This isn't about bullets and street corners, Sophia.”
“This is about the North Atlantic shipping concession.”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The North Atlantic concession was the crown jewel of maritime transport on the Eastern seaboard.
Whoever controlled the shipping manifests controlled the legitimate supply chain for three major pharmaceutical conglomerates.
Adrian had been trying to secure that contract for two years.
He had thrown millions of dollars at politicians and port authorities, yet the board had repeatedly rejected his bids.
“Adrian doesn't know why he was denied,” Sophia murmured, almost to herself.
Victor’s smile widened with genuine admiration.
“Of course he doesn't.”
“He thought he could bully the board chairman the way he bullies his capos.”
“He didn't realize the chairman’s father died of counterfeit insulin shipped through a compromised dock ten years ago.”
“Adrian’s proposal reeked of dirty money and loose security.”
Sophia took the manila folder from his hand.
She opened it and skimmed the financial projections.
“This proposal is completely inefficient,” she said after ten seconds.
“The logistics route through Baltimore has a twelve-percent margin of customs delay during the winter months.”
“If you reroute through the deep-water harbor in Portland and utilize private cold-storage railcars, you bypass the state inspection bottleneck entirely.”
“You would cut overhead by fourteen million in the first quarter alone.”
Victor looked at her as though he had just witnessed a miracle.
He had spent six months with top financial analysts trying to optimize that exact route.
She had solved it in less than a minute on a wooden porch in the pouring rain.
“Adrian called you the shame of his name,” Victor said quietly.
“He sat at that dinner table and made jokes about your silence.”
“He had a queen sitting beside him, and he treated you like a scullery maid.”
Sophia closed the folder with a sharp snap.
“What do you want from me, Victor?”
“I want you to head the Moretti Logistics Group,” he answered without hesitation.
“You will hold forty-nine percent of the voting shares.”
“You will never answer to any man, including me.”
“We take the North Atlantic contract right out of Adrian’s hands.”
“We strip him of his legitimate cover until his syndicate is forced to look at his failures.”
Sophia looked toward the misty woods at the edge of the property.
She remembered Adrian’s cold eyes across the dinner table.
She remembered his voice in the study cutting through her soul.
You are the shame of my name, Sophia.
She looked back at Victor Moretti and extended her hand.
“I don't want forty-nine percent, Victor.”
“I want fifty-one.”
Victor stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment, then burst into genuine laughter.
May you like
He took her hand and gripped it firmly.
“Fifty-one percent it is, partner.”
