Chapter 9 - The Trial of Strengths
The next three days passed in a whirlwind of high-stakes maneuvering that felt like a chess game played with millions of dollars and human lives as the pieces.
Dominic did not hide his operations from me. Instead, he made the penthouse on Seventy-Second Street his central hub.
I continued my shifts at St. Catherine’s, coming home every evening to find Lily playing board games with Dominic’s senior lieutenants—hardened men who looked terrified whenever Lily asked them to hold her stuffed rabbit while she drew pictures.
On Thursday evening, Marco Rossi made his move.
He called an emergency meeting of the New York Waterfront Alliance at the St. Regis Hotel—a gathering of the city’s most influential port authorities, union bosses, and private logistics operators. Marco intended to force a vote to strip the Moretti family of their maritime licenses.
Dominic walked into the grand ballroom of the St. Regis at 8:00 p.m.
He didn't bring an army of enforcers. He brought three people: his legal counsel, his brother Julian—now a handsome, healthy twenty-four-year-old corporate director—and me.
I wore an emerald-green silk gown that Dominic had selected for me, my hair pinned up in an elegant knot, standing proudly beside him as we stepped into the brilliant, crystal-lit hall filled with two hundred of the most powerful people in the city.
Marco Rossi stood at the front of the room near the podium, his silver hair slicked back, his dark eyes widening in shock as he saw me walking beside Dominic.
“Moretti!” Marco called out, his voice echoing over the quieted crowd. “You bring a trauma surgeon to a meeting of port authorities? Have you lost your mind?”
Dominic walked straight up the central aisle, his heavy shoes sounding like iron stamps against the marble floor. He stopped ten feet from Marco’s table.
“I brought Dr. Kelly,” Dominic said, his baritone voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the room, “because she represents the six hundred hospital employees and dockworkers who benefit from the Moretti Medical Foundation.”
Dominic gestured toward Julian, who stepped forward, laying a thick binder of financial documents on the central table.
“As of four o'clock today, Marco,” Dominic announced smoothly, “The Moretti Foundation has purchased fifty-one percent of the debt notes on your shipping operations in Naples and Genoa. If you call a vote tonight to strip my licenses in New York... I will liquidate your family’s assets in Italy by sunrise.”
The ballroom erupted into hushed, terrified gasps.
Marco Rossi’s face turned from pale white to deep crimson. His hands shook as he looked down at the legal documents on the table.
“You... you can’t do this!” Marco choked out.
“I am a logistics developer, Marco,” Dominic said coldly, leaning forward until his face was inches from the older man’s. “I direct resources where they belong. And your time in this city is finished.”
Marco looked around the room at the dock leaders, the union bosses, and the city officials. Not a single person stepped forward to defend him. They all stood in silent, terrified respect, looking at Dominic Moretti—the undisputed king of the New York waterfront.
Marco grabbed his briefcase, spat on the marble floor, and walked out of the ballroom through the side exit, his lieutenants scrambling behind him like beaten dogs.
Dominic turned back to face the crowd.
May you like
He extended his hand toward me, inviting me to stand beside him at the center of the hall.
As I took his hand, the room erupted into thunderous applause, the union leaders and city bosses bowing their heads in respect to the man who ruled the city—and the woman who stood by his side.
