Chapter 7 - The Brooklyn Threat
While the takeover of the West Side went smoother than anyone had anticipated, the peace was short-lived.
Don Carmine Moretti, the aging head of the Brooklyn crime syndicate, did not take kindly to being outmaneuvered by a woman.
Three days after the harbor union aligned with the Gallos, a fire broke out at one of Nora’s primary art restoration warehouses in the industrial district. Two guards were hospitalized, and three priceless sixteenth-century canvases—works Nora had spent months restoring for an upcoming international exhibition—were destroyed.
A message was left painted in red across the alley wall outside: “Stick to your brushes, little girl.”
That evening, the master bedroom of the Gallo mansion was filled with a suffocating tension.
Dominic stood near the fireplace, loading thirty-round magazines for his rifle, his face twisted in a terrifying mask of rage.
“I’m going to kill him,” Dominic growled, his voice thick with lethal intent. “I’m taking thirty men to his compound in Bensonhurst tonight. I will burn Carmine Moretti alive in his own bed.”
Nora sat at her vanity table, carefully wiping away her makeup with a cotton pad. She looked entirely calm, though her eyes were uncharacteristically dark in the mirror's reflection.
“No,” Nora said softly.
Dominic stopped loading the magazine, looking up at her in disbelief. “He burned your studio, Nora! He destroyed your work! He threatened your life!”
Nora set the cotton pad down, turned around in her chair, and looked at him.
“Carmine Moretti wants a war, Dominic,” she explained smoothly. “He wants you to bring your men into Brooklyn so he can catch you in a bottleneck on the bridge. He’s an old-school thug who thinks in terms of territory and body counts.”
“And what do you think in terms of?” Dominic asked, stepping closer to her.
Nora stood up, walking over to him. She reached out, taking the heavy magazine from his hand and setting it gently on the mantelpiece.
“I think in terms of leverage,” she whispered, resting her hands on his chest. “Carmine Moretti has a weak heart, three corrupt judges on his payroll, and a young mistress he keeps in a penthouse on Park Avenue that his wife knows nothing about.”
Dominic blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face. “How do you know about the mistress?”
“I hired a private investigator six months ago when we got married, darling,” Nora admitted playfully, tapping his nose with her finger. “I made it my business to map out every threat to my husband's life.”
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Dominic let out a low laugh, wrapping his strong arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. “You are terrifying, do you know that?”
“I’m protective,” she corrected him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “There is a difference. Now, put the guns away. We are going to ruin Don Carmine without firing a single shot.”
