Chapter 13 - THE BLOOD ON THE LEDGERS
-13
Three months after the wedding, the cold Chicago winter finally broke, giving way to a muddy, gray spring that brought heavy cargo freighters churning up the Chicago River toward the newly expanded Marchetti terminals.
Adeline sat in the master study on the fourth floor, her laptop open to the encrypted financial dashboard of the syndicate. The transition was complete. The ports were modernized, union wages were locked in at fair rates that guaranteed absolute worker loyalty, and the rival families had all quietly fallen in line, paying their tributes on time without a single murmur of dissent.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Enzo walked in, carrying two glasses of aged bourbon. He set one down on the desk in front of her and leaned against the edge, watching her scroll through a ledger of overseas investments.
“You’ve been working for fourteen hours straight,” Enzo noted, his voice laced with mild reprimand. “Even the queen of Chicago is allowed to sleep.”
Adeline took a sip of the bourbon, letting the amber liquid burn pleasantly down her throat before looking up at him. “I’m not working, Enzo. I’m auditing. You’d be amazed at how many loopholes your late father left in the European import contracts.”
Enzo chuckled, reaching out to brush a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “My father built an empire on chaos and muscle. You’re building one on spreadsheets and corporate law. Remind me never to cross you in a financial dispute.”
“You already gave me your empire, husband,” Adeline reminded him with a soft, teasing smile. “Crossing me would be entirely redundant.”
Suddenly, the secure intercom on the desk buzzed.
Marcus’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Boss, Miss Adeline—we have an unexpected visitor at the front gate. A diplomatic attaché from the federal district attorney’s office. He’s asking for a private audience with Mrs. Marchetti regarding the closure of the Ashford investigation.”
Enzo’s smile vanished instantly, his jaw tightening into granite. “Tell him to go to hell. We don't talk to federal agents without a signed subpoena.”
“Wait,” Adeline interrupted, holding up a hand. She stood up from her desk, buttoning the cuffs of her silk blouse. “Let him in, Marcus. Send him to the green parlor.”
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Enzo stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “Adeline, what game are you playing with the feds?”
“It’s not a game, Enzo,” Adeline said calmly, walking past him toward the door. “It’s loose ends. And in our world, you never leave a thread unpulled.”
