Chapter 7 - The Queen of the Docks
Two months had passed since the night at the Hotel Belvedere, and the underworld of the city had learned a terrifying new reality: Leo Rossi was no longer operating alone.
It wasn’t just that he had married; it was who he had married.
The gossip rags had tried to paint Mave as a Cinderella story gone rogue—a poor warehouse girl swept off her feet by a syndicate king. But within six weeks, the reality of her competence had slammed into the criminal elite with the force of a tidal wave.
On a crisp Tuesday morning, Mave stood on the concrete pier of the eastern shipping yards, wearing a heavy wool trench coat, leather gloves, and sensible boots that didn't pinch her toes.
Beside her, three regional union bosses stood shifting nervously from foot to foot, watching her review a massive manifest clipped to a metal board.
“The customs clearance for dock sector four is delayed,” one of the bosses, a burly man named Salvatore with a cauliflower ear, muttered uneasily. “We thought we’d have to bribe the port inspector again.”
Mave didn’t look up from her clipboard. Her dark hair was tied back in a sleek, efficient knot, and her eyes were sharp, calculating, and entirely immune to intimidation.
“You don’t bribe port inspectors, Salvatore,” Mave said smoothly, her voice carrying the gravelly authority of someone who had spent five years auditing fraudulent accounts. “You remind them that their cousin’s import license for medical supplies was flagged for tax evasion last November. I already sent the audit notice to his office this morning. The clearance will be on your desk by noon.”
Salvatore stared at her, blinking in stunned silence. “Er... yes, Mrs. Rossi. Right away.”
“And fix the inventory logs for the southern warehouses,” Mave added, turning to face him directly. “You’re shorting the night-shift workers two hours of overtime on every double shift. If I see another discrepancy on next week’s ledger, I won't send an audit notice. I’ll send Marco.”
The three burly union bosses swallowed hard and nodded rapidly before practically scrambling away down the pier.
A low, amused chuckle came from behind her.
Mave turned to see Leo leaning against the side of a black SUV, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with unabashed pride in his dark eyes.
“You’re terrifying them,” Leo noted, walking over and pulling her slightly closer out of the coastal wind.
“I’m being efficient,” Mave corrected, though a faint blush warmed her cheeks. “Your previous management was letting millions leak through sloppy accounting and lazy extortion.”
“My previous management didn't grow up balancing books in a warehouse while dodging angry creditors,” Leo replied softly, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re running my eastern holdings better than my best captains.”
Mave leaned into his touch for a fraction of a second before stepping back with a playful smirk. “Don't flatter me, Rossi. I still haven't forgotten that you trapped me into a marriage proposal while I was wearing spray-painted shoes.”
“It was a very effective proposal,” Leo defended himself smoothly. “Besides, you love the power.”
“I love the paperwork,” Mave corrected dryly. “The power is just a nice perk.”
Before Leo could reply, his encrypted satellite phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression instantly hardened from playful amusement back into the cold, lethal mask of the syndicate boss.
“What is it?” Mave asked, her demeanor shifting instantly to match his focus.
“Victor Moretti,” Leo said grimly, pocketing the phone. “He’s holding a meeting with the remaining eastern families at an abandoned warehouse down near the old rail yards. He thinks he can rally a final offensive now that the Sullivans are gone.”
Mave crossed her arms, her dark eyes flashing with cold resolve. “Does he know what happened to the last people who tried to test our perimeter?”
“He’s about to find out,” Leo said. He looked down at her, hesitation flickering across his features for a split second. “Stay here, Mave. Let Marco handle the—”
“No,” Mave interrupted, her tone absolute and unbendable. “I spent twenty-two years hiding in corners, waiting for other people to decide my fate. I’m not sitting in a car while my husband goes to war.”
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Leo stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, a fierce, unwavering respect settled into his eyes. He unzipped his holster, checked the safety of his Sig Sauer, and handed her a compact, lightweight piece she could easily conceal in her trench coat pocket.
“Come on, then, Mrs. Rossi,” Leo said, a dangerous edge to his smile. “Let’s go clean house.”
