Chapter 6 - The West Side Vacuum
News of the massacre at the Gallo estate traveled through the city's underworld like wildfire, though the details were heavily distorted.
By noon, the rumor on the street was that Dominic Gallo had set a trap for the Russo family, wiping out their leadership in a single night. No one mentioned Nora. Dominic’s men were under strict orders: anyone who spoke a word about Mrs. Gallo’s involvement would find themselves at the bottom of the Hudson River.
As far as the city was concerned, Nora Vance-Gallo was still the quiet, refined civilian wife who knew nothing of her husband's empire.
In the executive suite of the Gallo headquarters downtown—a glass-and-steel skyscraper overlooking the harbor—Dominic sat at the head of a long mahogany conference table.
Flanking him were his top five capos: men who controlled the docks, the construction unions, the gambling dens, and the narcotics trade. They were hard, brutal men, nervous and fidgety in the wake of the previous night’s events.
Standing at the large floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the city with a cup of tea in her hand, was Nora. She was dressed in a sleek, tailored charcoal pant suit, her hair pulled back into an elegant knot.
“The West Side is in total chaos, Boss,” said Marco, the capo in charge of the docks. “Salvatore and Thomas are gone. Their lieutenants are fighting over the scraps. If we don't move in by tonight, the Moretti family from Brooklyn will take the shipping yards.”
Dominic leaned back, tapping his fingers against the table. “Moving in too quickly will trigger a turf war with Moretti. We need a clean takeover.”
“You can’t take it cleanly through force, Dominic,” Nora spoke up, her smooth voice cutting cleanly through the thick smoke in the room.
The five capos turned their heads in surprise. Marco frowned, looking annoyed that a woman was interrupting a high-level commission meeting.
“Mrs. Gallo,” Marco said, trying to keep his tone respectful but failing to hide his condescension. “With all due respect, this is street logistics. The Russo family built their network on fear and kickbacks.”
Nora turned around slowly, taking a sip of her tea. She walked toward the table with effortless confidence, stopping right behind Dominic’s chair.
“The Russo family built their network on extortion, Marco,” Nora corrected him calmly. “Which is why their harbor union leaders hate them. They were stealing thirty percent off the top of every container, forcing the union bosses to manipulate their books.”
She reached down, pulling a sleek tablet from her leather briefcase, and slid it across the table toward Marco.
“Those are the offshore account numbers for the Russo family’s primary shell company in Panama,” Nora continued. “I accessed their encrypted ledger last night while Salvatore was... reflecting on his choices in our basement.”
Marco picked up the tablet, his eyes widening as he scrolled through the data. “How the hell did you get these codes?”
“I know how to read old, hidden things, Marco,” Nora replied with a small, dangerous smile. “Paintings, ledgers, encrypted hard drives—it's all the same principle. If you use those accounts to clear the union's pension deficit today, the dock workers will lock the Moretti family out of the harbor before sunset. No bloodshed required.”
The five capos stared at her in absolute silence.
Marco looked up at Dominic, then back at Nora, his condescension completely vanishing, replaced by a sudden, profound sense of awe.
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Dominic looked up at his wife, a proud, dark smirk touching his lips.
“You heard her,” Dominic commanded his capos, his voice echoing through the boardroom. “Clear the union deficit. The West Side belongs to my wife now.”
