Lombardi jumps, startled by my intervention. My father stares at me, completely mortified.
I look directly at Salvatore. "The leak was Bastiano, a high-ranking Capo in the Genovese family. He was bought by the Russians to feed them my husband's convoy routes. And he didn't act alone." I turn my gaze to Don Lombardi, letting the silence stretch until the man begins to visibly shake. "Dario Lombardi knew about the port ambush before the bullets started flying."
Lombardi gasps, slamming his hand on the table. "That is a lie! My son would never—"
"Your son is a treacherous coward," Cassio snarls, his voice turning to ice. "We have the offshore routing numbers. We have the proof. If Dario isn't delivered to my estate by sunset, the Vellutini will slaughter every Lombardi breathing in this city."
"Enough!" Salvatore slams his cane against the floor. The booming sound echoes like a gunshot. "The infighting ends today. Orlando, your house allowed a rat to thrive. Lombardi, your son will face a tribunal. But right now, we have a bigger problem. Volkov thinks we are fractured. We need to strike back, and we need to hit them so hard they never recover."
"We hit the port," Cassio says seamlessly. "We take back Pier Seven."
"Pier Seven is a fortress right now," Orlando argues, shaking his head. "The Bratva have it locked down. They brought in heavy shipping containers to build a barricade. If we send men in there, it’s a suicide mission."
Cassio frowns, glancing at Matteo. The logistical nightmare of breaching a fortified dock is a heavy reality.
I stare at the map of the port spread across the center of the table. I trace the red and blue lines, remembering the manifests I reviewed in Cassio’s study just hours before the attack. A sudden, glaring discrepancy clicks into place in my mind.
"They don't have it locked down," I say quietly.
All eyes snap to me. Cassio tilts his head, giving me the floor, his eyes blazing with encouragement.
I stand up, leaning over the massive table to point at the eastern edge of the map.
"The shipping logs you were reviewing yesterday," I say, looking at Cassio, then addressing the rest of the room. "Volkov isn't just moving weapons. He’s moving heavy narcotics, and he is using standard commercial routes to do it. But those commercial freighters require deep-water clearance, which means they can only funnel through Holding Bay Four."
I tap my manicured fingernail against a narrow inlet on the map.
"The Bratva built their barricades facing the main city roads," I explain, the strategic pieces aligning perfectly in my brain. "They expect us to attack from the street. But Holding Bay Four is completely exposed to the water. They have to leave the bay open to receive the commercial freighters at the shift change. If you hit Bay Four by boat at exactly 3:00 AM, you bypass the barricades entirely. You cripple his supply chain and trap his men between the water and the shipping containers."
Orlando stares at me as if I have just performed magic. Lombardi is speechless. Matteo leans forward, studying the map, a slow, vicious smile spreading across his face.
"She’s right," Matteo breathes. "The water approach is completely unprotected."
Don Salvatore looks at the map, then slowly raises his gaze to look at me. The ancient, ruthless boss nods his head, a gesture of respect.
"The Italian families will no longer operate as separate entities tied by a piece of paper," Salvatore announces, his voice echoing with finality. "The Vellutini and Genovese families will unite under one coordinated strike. Cassio, you will lead the assault on Bay Four."
Salvatore turns his dark eyes to my father. "Orlando, your men will provide the naval transport and the heavy artillery. You will follow Cassio's lead."
My father swallows his pride. He looks at me, then at my husband. He finally realizes that the power dynamic has irreversibly shifted. "Understood, Don Salvatore."
Cassio reaches under the table, his hand finding my knee. His fingers squeeze tightly, a silent, blazing transmission of pride and partnership.
I sit back down in my chair, folding my hands on the mahogany table, ready to watch my husband burn the Bratva to the ground.
30
Cassio
The doors of Don Salvatore’s war room shut behind us, sealing the newly minted alliance. Orlando gave his nod. Lombardi was neutered. And it was all because of the woman walking beside me.
I guide Noemi into the back of the armored SUV. Dante shuts the door, encasing us in the quiet interior. I lean my head back against the leather, exhaling a long, ragged breath. The pain in my chest is a constant, grinding ache, but the adrenaline singing in my veins easily drowns it out.
"You humiliated them," I murmur, turning my head to look at her. "You sat at the Capo dei Capi's table and outmaneuveredmen who have been fighting this war since before you were born."
Noemi kicks off her black stilettos, curling her legs up onto the seat. She doesn't preen. She just meets my gaze with a calculating look. "They were looking at the map the wrong way. They were looking at the streets, Cassio. Volkov expects us to hit the front door because Italians always hit the front door. He wants a shootout in the alleys of Pier Seven."
"So we give him one," I say, the pieces of the trap clicking into place in my head. "We give him the street fight he wants. We send a loud, heavily armed decoy force straight down the main avenue. We let him think we fell for the bottleneck."