Chapter 5 Angelo
Angelo
Istare at the reports in front of me, my jaw tightening.
The Kovacs family has just made its first move, attempting a hostile takeover of Bellanti Pacific Shipping—our key East Asia subsidiary. It's not just an attack—it's a declaration of war.
"You've read through all of this?" I ask Veronica, who sits across from me in my penthouse office.
"Every page," she confirms, her silver-streaked black hair pulled into its usual immaculate bun, her elegant posture perfect as always. "They've been accumulating shares through shell corporations for months. "We caught it because of the algorithm you designed last quarter."
I allow myself a small smile. "At least something's working right."
My phone vibrates against the mahogany desk.
Matteo.
I silence it.
My brother can wait until I figure out how deep this shit goes.
"They've acquired twenty-seven percent," I say, tapping a finger against the spreadsheet. "Not enough for control, but enough to cause problems."
Veronica leans forward, her silk Armani blouse rustling softly. "The Kovacs aren't doing this just to get under your skin, Angelo. They want something."
"They always have." I loosen my tie, irritated.
"First it was the distribution routes in Queens.
Then it was a seat at the table with our European connections.
Now they want our foothold in Asia." I knock back the rest of my scotch, welcoming the burn.
"Stefano Kovac has been desperate for a partnership for years. "
"Which you've consistently refused," Veronica notes, her dark eyes studying me carefully.
"Because they can't be trusted." I push away from my desk, walking to the window. “And they've just proven me right by trying this bullshit instead of coming to me directly."
Veronica sighs behind me. "There's something else you should know."
When I turn, her expression is grave. She slides another folder across my desk.
"What am I looking at?" I ask, flipping it open.
"Chinese regulatory changes affecting our Hong Kong operations. They're implementing new transparency requirements for foreign-owned businesses."
I skim the documents, my mind already calculating implications. For most companies, this would be a minor inconvenience. For us, with our elaborate web of laundered funds flowing through these channels, it's potentially catastrophic.
"Fuck." The Chinese government has unknowingly created the perfect storm—tightening regulations just as the Kovacs make their move.
Veronica watches me. "We need to restructure our Hong Kong holdings immediately to protect our assets."
I snap the folder shut. "How much time do we have?"
"Three weeks before the first reporting period."
There is not enough time to move everything. We'll have to compartmentalize, create new channels while maintaining the old ones just long enough to transition without attracting attention.
"I'll need to see our entire international banking network," I decide. "Every connection, every shell company, every transfer point. We need to find vulnerabilities before they do."
Veronica nods, her expression unreadable. "I'll get you access. But first, I think I should review the network myself. I'll need full access to analyze where we're most exposed."
I hesitate. Even Veronica rarely has complete access. But these are unusual times.
"You're thinking too hard about this, Angelo," she says, with the same tone she used when I was her student at Wharton. "This is exactly what they want—to make you second-guess every decision until you're paralyzed."
She's right, of course. She always is. That's why I've trusted her to run our Asia-Pacific operations for the past decade. That's why I see her as a mother figure I lost years ago.
"Fine," I tell her. "Full access. But I want daily reports on what you find."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's an alert—Claire Kovac has been spotted at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, attending the same charity gala I'm scheduled for tonight.
I feel a twist in my gut at the name. Claire and I have... a history. Wharton, senior year, before I knew who her father was. Before I understood how the world really worked. She's Stefano's greatest weapon—brilliant, beautiful, and utterly ruthless.
"Something wrong?" Veronica asks, noting my expression.
I showed her the alert. "Claire's at the Met Gala tonight. Stefano too, probably."
Veronica's expression tightens almost imperceptibly. "Are you still planning to attend?"
"Absolutely," I say, straightening my tie. "I think it's time the Kovacs, and I had a proper conversation about their recent business activities."
Veronica gathers her things, slipping the reports into her designer briefcase. "Be careful, Angelo. The Kovacs aren't people you want to underestimate."
"Neither am I," I reply, my voice hard.
After she leaves, I return to my computer, pulling up the secure network where our most sensitive information is stored. I spend hours restructuring accounts, creating new pathways for our money. If the Kovacs want a war, I'll give them one they can’t win.
___
The Metropolitan Museum of Art glows against the night sky as I step out of my car. Cameras flash around the entrance as photographers capture New York's elite arriving for the annual Art Restoration Gala. I straighten my custom Tom Ford tuxedo and make my way up the steps.
Inside, the Great Hall has been transformed into an opulent reception area. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm light over the crowd of socialites, politicians, and businessmen and women mingling among the statues. I grab a champagne from a passing waiter and scan the room.
It doesn't take long to spot them. Stefano Kovac stands near a Greek sculpture, his imposing frame and flap of white hair unmistakable even from across the room.
Beside him, Claire shimmers in an emerald gown that matches her eyes perfectly.
She's talking animatedly with a senator's wife, her fake smile on full display.
I make my way through the crowd, nodding at acquaintances but stopping for no one. As I approach, Claire's eyes lock with mine, her smile faltering for just a moment before returning.
"Angelo Bellanti," she purrs, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Hardly a surprise," I reply, taking her hand briefly. "This is my event, after all. The Bellanti Foundation sponsors it every year."
"Of course," Stefano interjects, offering his hand. His grip is firm, challenging. "Your family's philanthropy is well known."
I meet his icy blue gaze. "Among other things."
The senator's wife, sensing tension, leaves, leaving the three of us in our own bubble despite the crowded room.
"I understand congratulations are in order," I continue, keeping my voice casual. "You've been quite busy with acquisitions lately."
Stefano's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Business opportunities present themselves. Smart men take advantage."
"And what about hostile takeovers disguised as market investments?" I ask, sipping my champagne. "Is that smart business too?"
Claire laughs lightly, placing a hand on my arm. "Always so direct, Angelo. Some things never change."
I remove her hand and fix her with a glare. "Some things do. Like learning who your real friends are."
Stefano's expression hardens. "We could be more than friends, Angelo. Allies. Partners. Your family and mine could control everything from the Hudson to the South China Sea."
"I've heard your partnership pitch before," I reply. "I wasn't interested then. I'm even less interested now."
"Because of old prejudices?" Stefano challenges. "Your father never trusted Eastern Europeans either. Look where that got him."
My hand tightens around the champagne flute, and I force myself to relax before I shatter it.
"My family works alone," I tell him flatly. "We always have."
"Until you can't," Claire interjects, her voice soft but pointed. "The regulatory landscape is changing, Angelo. Particularly in Asia. Even the mighty Bellantis might need friends soon."
The reference to the Chinese regulations sends a chill down my spine. How do they know about that?
"If you're trying to threaten me—" I snarl.
"No threats," Stefano interrupts, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Just a friendly observation that in today's climate, allies are more valuable than enemies."
"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before making a move on my shipping company," I reply coldly.
Claire steps closer, her perfume nauseating as she whispers, "It's not too late to change course, Angelo. For any of us."
I meet her gaze, remembering briefly how those blue eyes once looked in the morning light of my Wharton apartment. Before I knew what she was. A fucking spy sent by her father to keep watch on me.
"Stay away from my business," I tell them both. "This is your only warning."
Stefano's smile turns predatory. "We'll be in touch soon. I think you'll find yourself more... receptive to our offer in the coming weeks."
I turn and walk away, my mind racing. Their confidence unsettles me. It's as if they know something I don't—as if they've already put pieces in motion that I haven't seen yet.
By the time I reach my car, I've decided. I pull out my phone and call Veronica.
"I need you to speed up the restructuring plan," I tell her without preamble. "The Kovacs know about our Hong Kong situation. We can't wait."
“I'm on it,” she replies and hangs up immediately.
They want a war? I'll fucking give them one.