Chapter 5 - The War Cabinet
The sun rose over the Long Island Sound in a blaze of cold gold, casting long shadows across the snow-covered lawn of the Greenwich estate.
By eight in the morning, the study had been converted into a command center.
Tommy Russo sat at the mahogany desk surrounded by three encrypted laptops, while five senior lieutenants of the Costa syndicate stood around a large map of the New York harbor pinned to the wall.
Vivian stepped into the room wearing a sleek navy trousersuit and leather boots, her dark hair pulled back into a neat braid. She held two folders containing the official financial audits of Hale Freight.
The lieutenants stopped talking when she entered. They looked at her with a mix of curiosity and reluctant respect—word of her actions at the Plaza Hotel had already spread through the organization.
Edmund stood by the window, wearing a black turtleneck and charcoal trousers. He looked up, his expression brightening as she walked in.
“Gentlemen,” Edmund announced, gesturing toward Vivian. “My wife, Vivian Costa. As of nine o'clock this morning, she holds fifty percent ownership of the Brooklyn pier operations and full executive authority over Hale Freight.”
A short, stocky capo named Franky Vance scratched his chin. “With respect, Boss... she’s an outsider. Moretti’s crews are still lurking around the perimeter of Pier 4. Are we sure we want a woman running the terminal during a lockdown?”
Vivian didn't wait for Edmund to defend her. She walked straight to the table, threw her folders down with a loud thud, and looked Franky dead in the eye.
“Franky,” Vivian said smoothly. “In 2022, you diverted four shipping containers of imported olive oil through Pier 12 without paying the harbor customs fee. You cleared eighty thousand dollars, but you forgot that Hale Freight logs crane weight automatically on digital scales.”
Franky went red. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Because I altered the digital logs so the federal port inspector wouldn't throw you in a federal prison,” Vivian said calmly. “I know every bribe, every stolen container, and every crooked crane operator on those docks because I’ve been hiding your sloppy bookkeeping for three years. If you want to talk about running the terminal, Franky, let’s talk about your four hundred thousand dollar tax lien.”
The room fell completely silent. Tommy snorted into his coffee cup.
Franky swallowed hard, taking a step back. “No offense intended, Mrs. Costa.”
“None taken,” Vivian said, unrolling a large blueprint of the Brooklyn shipping yard onto the table. “Now let's talk about Victor Moretti.”
Edmund walked over, resting his hands on the edge of the table, his shoulder brushing against Vivian’s. “Moretti took the six million dollar buyout, but Tommy’s scouts report his men are still moving equipment near the fuel tanks on the south quay.”
“Because Moretti didn't take the buyout to walk away,” Vivian explained, pointing to a section of the blueprint marked Tank Farm B. “He took the money to fund a secondary operation. He’s planning to sabotage the fuel lines before the international inspectors arrive on Thursday.”
Edmund’s eyes narrowed. “If the fuel lines leak into the bay, the Coast Guard shuts down the entire Brooklyn terminal for environmental remediation.”
“Which drops the property value by sixty percent,” Vivian finished. “Allowing Moretti’s shell company to buy the land out of bankruptcy court for pennies.”
Tommy leaned forward. “How do you know he’s targeting Tank Farm B?”
“Because my father was drunk three weeks ago and mentioned that Moretti’s chief engineer was asking for the pressure valve schematics,” Vivian revealed. “Moretti’s hit on Edmund wasn't just about taking the piers tonight. It was the first phase of a scorched-earth strategy to destroy the harbor’s value if he couldn't control it.”
Edmund looked around the room at his silent lieutenants. The doubt in their eyes had completely vanished, replaced by cold awe.
“Franky,” Edmund ordered, his voice ringing with absolute command. “Take ten men and secure Tank Farm B immediately. Set up twenty-four-hour surveillance. If anyone touches those valves, take them down.”
“Right away, Boss,” Franky said, bowing his head slightly toward Vivian before rushing out of the room with two lieutenants.
Edmund turned to Tommy. “Contact the Maritime Commission. Register the fifty percent transfer to Vivian immediately. I want her name on those deeds before noon.”
“Already done,” Tommy said, holding up his tablet. “The paperwork was filed twenty minutes ago. She’s officially co-owner of the terminal.”
Vivian looked at the tablet screen, seeing her name—Vivian Hale Costa—printed alongside Edmund’s in heavy black ink.
For ten years, she had fought to keep her family from drowning under her father’s debts. Now, in less than twenty-four hours, she owned half the most valuable shipping real estate on the East Coast.
Edmund walked beside her as the rest of the team exited the study to carry out their orders.
“Satisfied?” Edmund asked softly.
“I’ll be satisfied when Moretti is on a boat back to Sicily,” Vivian said.
Edmund smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, sending a pleasant shiver down her neck.
“He won't be going back to Sicily,” Edmund murmured, his gray eyes locking onto hers with intense focus. “Victor Moretti made two mistakes. First, he tried to kill me at my wedding. Second, he made my wife angry.”
Vivian felt her heart jump slightly at the word wife. It didn't sound like a business arrangement anymore. It sounded like a promise.
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“What’s the next move?” she asked.
“The next move,” Edmund said, taking her hand and leading her toward the foyer, “is going down to the docks together to show everyone who rules Brooklyn.”
