Page 109 of Shadows of Steel
Michael exhales, pleased. “Good. That keeps the Outfit’s money flowing.”
I shift slightly, fingers tapping against the desk. “And the ports?”
Giovanni nods. “Sicily controls arms shipments through Delmare Bay and the Varela Passage. If you need firepower for your situation with the Albanians, we can reroute some cargo through Naples, in addition to Porto Belladonna.”
He leans back slightly, assessing me. “You already requested access to the port, but if the Albanians are pressing harder than expected, we can move shipments through multiple channels to avoid disruption.”
Michael raises a brow. “And what does that do for Chicago?”
I glance at him. “Leverage. The Outfit’s influence in the East Coast has always been a game of balance. With Sicilian shipments moving through, you’d have the weight you need to keep things in check. You hold the right doors open, and we ensure your supply lines remain intact.”
Michael considers this, then nods. “It’s a strong play.”
Giovanni drums his fingers against his desk. “And Camorra expansion? You’re locking down the Naples waterfront, but I hear whispers of pushback.”
I smirk. “Nothing I can’t handle. Some families aren’t exactly pleased with our union, they think I’m expanding too aggressively. They forget who they’re dealing with.”
Michael leans back. “And real estate?”
I exhale. “Profitable. Developments in Naples and Palermo will serve as clean fronts for our operations. If Chicago wants in, you can invest through shell corporations. Clean money in, dirty money out.”
Michael chuckles. “Now you’re talking.”
Giovanni nods. “Then it’s agreed. Ports, finances, and expansion, we keep each other’s hands steady.”
The conversation continues, each of us ensuring our interests are aligned, our operations stronger with this alliance.
Then my phone pings against the desk. I barely glance at it, until I see the name flashing on the screen.
Harlow.
Everything else fades.
A cold rush spreads through my veins.
I answer immediately. “Talk to me.”
Silence, except for her breathing. Shaky. Unsteady.
Then, in a voice so small, so fragile it barely reaches me. “Dante.”
I’m on my feet before conscious thought even registers.
Mario and Leonardo snap to attention as I shove the laptop aside. “Handle the rest.” I command, already striding for the door.
I take the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering, a dark fury uncoiling in my chest like a beast ready to tear through flesh.
Something is wrong. I fucking feel it.
The moment I step inside, my gaze sweeps the room, empty. My wife is nowhere in sight.
Then I see the bathroom door is slightly ajar.
I move. Stepping inside, I find her. Frozen.
Harlow stands there, pale as fucking death, her eyes wide, unfocused. Her chest rises and falls in sharp, shallow gasps, hands gripping her knees so tightly her knuckles have gone bone-white.
She’s spiralling.
