Chapter 3 - The Drydock Execution and the Chief EngineerThe salt air of the Atlantic City harbor whipped fiercely against my cheeks as I stood beside the floor-to-ceiling glass window of the penthouse suite, watching the sleek black motorcade pull away from the casino’s private marina.
Inside the expansive, marble-lined living room, ten-year-old Toby sat quietly on the oversized cream-colored sofa, clutching a mug of hot cocoa with both hands. His titanium hearing processor hummed softly with ambient sound, picking up the gentle jazz playing from the room's speakers.
Beside him sat his grandmother, Eleanor, her weathered fingers gently stroking the boy’s dark hair as she stared out at the glittering lights of the boardwalk.
“He has your eyes, you know,” Eleanor whispered softly, looking up as I walked over with a fresh blanket.
“Whose eyes, Mrs. Morelli-Vance?” I asked, tucking the soft cashmere blanket around her shoulders.
“Dante’s,” she replied with a faint, sad smile. “Underneath all that armor and syndicate blood... he is still the little boy who lost his mother too soon. My daughter loved him with all her heart, just as she loved Leo.”
I swallowed hard, remembering the cold, terrifying authority Dante had projected in the baccarat salon. Yet, when he had knelt beside Toby on the floor, his hands had been as gentle as a surgeon’s.
“He protected Toby tonight,” I said quietly. “He wouldn't let Victoria win.”
“Dante never loses what he vows to protect,” Eleanor murmured, looking toward the harbor. “And right now, that includes you, Teresa.”
Before I could process the weight of her words, the secure intercom on the mahogany desk chimed sharply.
I pressed the speaker button. “Teresa Cruz speaking.”
“Teresa. It’s Gabriel—Dante’s cousin,” a strained voice crackled through the speaker. “Get down to the private drydock immediately. Bring Toby’s medical file and the duplicate key to the vault safe. Dante needs you.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Is everything alright, Mr. Moretti?”
“Just get down here,” Gabriel snapped, the line clicking dead.
I looked down at Toby, who was watching me with wide, understanding eyes.
“Go, Miss Teresa,” Toby signed with his small hands, his fingers steady. “Uncle Dante needs you.”
I grabbed my wool coat, tucked the heavy brass vault key into my pocket, and hurried toward the private elevator.
Ten minutes later, the elevator doors slid open directly into the cavernous, industrial expanse of the Grand Atlantic private drydock. The air down here smelled heavily of diesel fuel, scorching metal, and salt water. Massive steel skeletal hulls of private yachts loomed overhead like prehistoric beasts under the glare of yellow sodium floodlights.
At the center of the drydock, surrounding a dry concrete slipway, stood a dozen of Dante’s armed tactical enforcers.
Dante Moretti stood at the edge of the pit, his coat discarded, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his muscular forearms, revealing jagged old scars across his wrists.
Before him, kneeling frantically on the concrete floor, was Chief Engineer Marcus Rossi—Victoria’s older brother and head of Rossi Maritime Engineering.
“Dante, you’re making a catastrophic mistake!” Marcus screamed, his tailored wool coat completely shredded down the back where one of Dante’s enforcers had dragged him across the grating. “Our family holds forty percent of the coastal shipping lanes! If you sever our contract, the state import board will blackball your casino supplies by Monday morning!”
Dante did not raise his voice. He stood with his hands resting casually inside his trouser pockets, looking down at the engineer as though he were a cockroach crawling across a kitchen floor.
“Your sister tried to silence an orphan by destroying his hearing, Marcus,” Dante said, his baritone echoing off the corrugated iron walls of the drydock. “And your family helped bury the truth of my mother’s murder for thirty years.”
“I didn't know anything about the old woman!” Marcus protested, his voice breaking into a high-pitched squeal. “That was our father’s doing! Please, Dante—we’re supposed to be partners!”
Dante stepped forward, his leather boots clicking sharply against the concrete.
“Partners share profits, Marcus. Traitors get dumped into the harbor.”
He turned his head slightly, spotting me standing near the elevator entrance. His slate-gray eyes softened just a fraction, cutting through the dark violence of the drydock.
“Teresa,” Dante called out, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the cavernous space.
I walked forward, my boots crunching on stray gravel, keeping my posture straight despite the armed enforcers standing on either side of the slipway.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, stopping a few feet away.
Dante reached out, taking the heavy brass vault key from my hand. He didn't look at Marcus anymore. He looked entirely at me.
“Did Gabriel give you the ledger from the vault?” Dante asked quietly.
“Yes, sir. It’s locked in the penthouse safe.”
Dante nodded, his fingers closing around the brass key. He turned back toward the terrified engineer groveling at his feet.
“Marcus,” Dante said smoothly. “Do you see this woman?”
Marcus blinked frantically, his face smeared with grease and sweat. “Wh-what woman? Some casino maid?”
In a blinding flash of movement, Dante reached down, grabbed Marcus by the collar of his shredded coat, and hauled him upright to the very edge of the concrete pit overlooking the dark, freezing waters of the Atlantic inlet.
“She is not a maid,” Dante whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal, absolute authority. He turned his head toward the harbor master standing nervously near the control booth.
“Pull a chair for my wife before I revoke your harbor charter, Arthur.”
The harbor master scrambled forward with a folding metal chair, placing it directly behind me as Dante gestured gracefully with his hand.
“Sit down, Teresa,” Dante commanded softly, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made the breath catch in my throat.
“Dante... what are you doing?” I stammered, my knees shaking as I sank slowly onto the metal chair.
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Dante didn't answer right away. He turned back to the trembling engineer dangling over the edge of the drydock pit.
“You asked what my wife has to do with this, Marcus?” Dante’s voice echoed off the steel hulls. “She is the new Chief Director of Moretti Maritime and Corporate Logistics. And her first official act as my wife... is signing the dissolution order for Rossi Engineering.”
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