Chapter 4 - The DeLuca Ambush & The Shield
The confrontation at the gala broke the fragile peace between the Morettis and the DeLucas.
Over the next forty-eight hours, three of Callow Logistics’ outer warehouses were subjected to mysterious safety inspections, and a supply convoy carrying electronics was hijacked on the New Jersey Turnpike.
I sat in Rafael’s study on Saturday morning, spreadsheets spread across his massive oak desk, tracing the digital signatures used to tip off the hijackers.
"It wasn't an external hack," I said, pointing at the monitor as Rafael leaned over my chair. "Look at the IP address used to log into the dispatch manifest at two in the morning. It came from inside my father’s old private office."
Rafael stared at the glowing numbers. "Victor is still giving them internal logistics data."
"He thinks if he bankrupts Callow Logistics under my ownership, the board will force me out and reinstate him," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "He’s actively sabotaging his own legacy just to ruin me."
"He’s not going to ruin you," Rafael said firm. "Because we are closing the trap tonight."
"Tonight?"
Rafael walked over to the safe hidden behind the wooden bookcase, unlocked it, and pulled out a thick black leather binder. He set it down in front of me.
"For three years, your father kept a second set of books," Rafael explained. "The real records of every illegal bribe, every smuggled shipment, and every offshore account he operated with old man DeLuca. He kept them hidden in a safe deposit box at Manhattan Trust."
I looked up in shock. "How did you get this?"
"I bought the bank last year," Rafael replied with a faint, ruthless smirk. "Your father thought his secrets were safe behind a keyhole. He didn't realize I owned the building."
I opened the binder. Page after page of hand-written transactions, signed receipts, and bank codes. It was enough evidence to put my father and the entire senior leadership of the DeLuca family in federal prison for thirty years.
"Why didn't you hand this to the FBI months ago?" I asked.
"Because before I met you, I was waiting for the right moment to leverage it for land acquisition," Rafael admitted honestly. "But now... this is your shield, June. You decide what happens to Victor."
I stared at the pages. My father had spent my entire life telling me I was worthless, using me as a beast of burden while throwing crumbs of affection to Serena. He had sold me to pay off his debts without a second thought.
"I want him stopped," I said, my voice hardening. "Not out of revenge. But because as long as he has power, he will keep hurting people."
"Then tonight, we host a dinner," Rafael said.
At eight o'clock that evening, my father arrived at the Moretti estate. He hadn't been invited; Rafael had sent a car to pick him up under the pretense of "finalizing the debt release documents."
Victor walked into the dining room looking triumphant, clearly believing he had successfully backed us into a corner with the warehouse attacks.
"Ah, Rafael!" Victor said smoothly, taking a seat at the long mahogany table. "I assume you've realized that running a logistics firm requires a firmer hand than my daughter possesses. The recent disruptions in New Jersey—"
"Were authorized by you," I said, stepping into the dining room from the adjoining parlor.
Victor sneered at me. "Don't be ridiculous, June. You're out of your depth."
I walked over to the table and dropped the black binder right in front of his dinner plate.
The loud thud echoed off the high ceilings.
Victor looked down at the binder. His smug expression flickered. He reached out with a trembling hand and flipped open the cover.
Page one: His signature on a two-million-dollar wire transfer to an offshore shell company in Panama tied to Anthony DeLuca.
Page two: A list of bribed customs officials at Port Newark.
Victor’s face drained of all color. The air left his lungs in a ragged gasp. "Where... where did you get this?"
"It doesn't matter where she got it, Victor," Rafael said, walking into the room and standing right behind my chair, his immense hands resting on my shoulders. "What matters is what my wife chooses to do with it."
Victor looked at me, his eyes wide with a terrifying mixture of shock and desperation. For the first time in my thirty-one years, my father looked at me with genuine fear.
"June... baby," Victor stammered, his voice cracking. "We're family. You wouldn't do this to your own father. Think of what this will do to our name! Think of Serena!"
"You didn't think of me when you put me in Serena's dress," I said, my voice ice cold. "You didn't think of me when you sent me here like a piece of damaged goods to clear your debt."
"I did it for the family!" he lied desperately.
"You did it for yourself," I corrected. "Here are the terms, Dad. You will sign a complete, irrevocable resignation from Callow Logistics tonight. You will surrender all remaining personal shares to a trust managed by me. You will pack your bags, leave New York, and never set foot in this city again."
Victor shook his head in disbelief. "And if I say no?"
Rafael leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto my father like a predator sighting prey. "If you say no, the FBI receives that binder at eight-fifteen. You will spend the rest of your life in a maximum-security federal facility, and I will personally ensure Anthony DeLuca knows it was your records that brought his family down."
May you like
Victor stared at the two of us—the daughter he had discarded and the mob boss who loved her.
With trembling, shaking fingers, Victor pulled a pen from his coat pocket, turned to the last page of the agreement resting beside the binder, and signed his name.
