Lorenzo
The first report is already finalized and I'm opening the second report when Marco arrives at six.
He pauses in the doorway, brows raised in shock. "You're here early."
I don't look up. "I have work to do."
He leaves me to it.
I read through the report, sign off on two expenditures, reject another, and move onto the next file.
It’s six-thirty when there’s a next knock at the door.
"Come in,” I call out. The door opens and Ciro walks in. One look at me and he doesn't bother with good morning.
Good. I don't have the patience for it.
Marco follows him inside carrying a tablet device and a folder. "North End and the waterfront site managers at nine," he says as he takes his usual seat. "Monthly review."
I nod. The North End site is running ahead of schedule. The Waterfront site is behind by three days after a subcontractor failed an inspection. Neither issue concerns me, not yet.
"Eleven o'clock," Marco continues. "Call with Harrison in New York."
I nod again. Harrison handles the financial side of several of our holding companies. I don't particularly like him, but he's good at what he does and that's what matters.
"He's sent over preliminary figures already."
"I'll review them before the call."
Marco makes a note and Ciro leans back in his chair.
"Wedding security this afternoon." I look at him and he stares right back at me. "We're just weeks out. I want the final rotation locked."
The guest list alone is enough to create problems. Half the city will be there, the other half will be trying to find a way inside.
"Have something prepared."
"I will."
The conversation continues for another ten minutes.
Construction, finances, security, schedules, problems, and solutions, all the usual. By the end of it my coffee is cold, again.
Marco closes the folder. "That's everything."
I nod once, then ask the only question that actually matters. "The leak."
Marco's expression doesn't change. "Nothing overnight."
No new names. No new financial activity. No new patterns. Nothing.
I expected that answer. I don't like it, but I expected it.
"Keep watching."
Marco stands. "Always."
Ciro follows and the door closes behind them.
The office falls quiet again and I look at the reports on my desk, the contracts, the notes, the schedules, the work waiting to be done.
I reach for my pen and pause. I set it back down.
A few seconds pass, then I pick it up again, this time I start taking in the information properly.
The nine o'clock meeting starts exactly on time, which improves my mood. Enzo takes the seat to my left, Caruso sits opposite him, Ferrante takes the final chair, and Marco remains standing near the wall. We’re sitting at the conference table that’s situated in my office, it can fit twelve people, it’s huge, but it’s needed.
I look around the table. "North End," I say.
Enzo opens his folder. "North End's on schedule." I nod for him to continue. "We've got an issue with Dock Seven."
That gets my attention. "What kind of issue?"
"The landlord wants out."
I lean back in my chair. Dock Seven isn't ours. It's one of the locations we use because it's useful and because the owner likes money more than questions.
"Why?"
"Health problems."
Interesting. "And?"
"His daughter wants to sell."
That isn't ideal. A new owner means uncertainty.
I make a note. "Find out who she's talking to."
Enzo nods. "We're already looking into it."
Good. "What else?"
"Inspection's been moved forward."
My gaze lifts. "By who?"
"The city."
That could mean nothing, or it could mean something.
"Reason?"
He sighs. "They say it's random."
Nobody in this city does anything randomly.
"Handle it," I instruct him.
"We will."
I tap my pen against the table once. "Anything else?"
Enzo shakes his head. "No, that’s everything."
Good. I turn to Caruso. "Waterfront?"
Caruso straightens slightly in his chair, which sets me on edge.
He's been with the Famiglia for almost fifteen years. Started as a laborer, worked his way up to foreman, then site manager. Reliable. Methodical. The sort of man who notices problems before they become expensive. Which is why I know the supplier delay is bothering him.
"We've had another delay."
"How long now?"
"Another week."
I lean back in my chair. "A week becomes two. Two becomes a month."
His jaw tightens, because we're both aware I'm right.
"The supplier's claiming equipment issues."
"I don't care what he's claiming."
The Waterfront site sits at the center of too many moving parts for delays to be tolerated. Materials get delayed, schedules get delayed, and everything behind them gets delayed too.
"What's your solution?"
"I've got a second supplier lined up."
That gets my attention. "Already?"
He shrugs. "I started looking the day they missed their first deadline."
That's exactly why he has the position.
"You vetted them?"
He nods. "Twice."
"And?"
"No issues."
I glance at Marco.
He flips through his notes. "Caruso's right. We've gone through their accounts, contracts, and shipping schedules. Nothing suggests they're connected to the leak."
I look back at Caruso. "Then what's the problem?"
"The second supplier costs more."
Of course they do. Everything costs more when you're fixing somebody else's mistake.
"How much?" He gives me the figure and I do the math in my head, the delay would cost more. "Approve it."
Caruso nods. "I'll have it done before lunch."
"It needs to be."
His gaze meets mine. "It will be."
I hold it for a second longer, then move on.
"Good." The Waterfront operation sits at the center of too many moving pieces for delays to be tolerated.
I move on. "Seaport."
Ferrante slides a folder across the table before I even finish speaking. Interesting.
Ferrante is thirty-two, young for a site manager, younger still for a man running the Seaport operation.
Most men spend years proving themselves before they're trusted with something this important.
He's only had the position for six months.
His predecessor made the mistake of skimming from the Famiglia, a move which found him at the bottom of the harbor.
Ferrante got the job because he was competent. He's kept it because he's better than competent.
I open the folder to find projections, storage figures, revenue forecasts, and property details. A hell of a lot more information than I asked for.
I skim through it. "What's this?"
"The warehouse beside ours." I look up at his words. "It's on the market."
That gets my attention. The Seaport site is our most valuable distribution point. Additional storage solves problems before they become problems. Most people wait until they're running out of space.
Ferrante is planning two years ahead.
"You've run the numbers?" I ask, already knowing what he’ll say.
"Three times."
I knew it. "And?"
"It makes sense."
I study him for a moment. There’s absolutely no hesitation, no overselling. Just utter confidence in his work.
I hand the folder to Marco. "Pull everything,” I tell him and he nods. "If the numbers hold up, we'll move on it."
Ferrante inclines his head, satisfied, as he should be. Six months ago, he inherited a problem. Since then, he's increased efficiency, reduced costs, and managed to bring me an opportunity instead of another headache.
There aren't enough men in this business who know the difference.
The rest of the meeting takes another twenty minutes. We go through schedules, budgets, staffing issues, along with a dispute with a subcontractor at one site, a permitting delay at another. Nothing serious, nothing unexpected, it’s exactly how I like it.
"The subcontractor?" I ask, glancing at Enzo.
"Handled."
"How?"
"He won't be working for us again."
I smile. Excellent. Problem solved.
I turn to Caruso. "The supplier?”
"I'll have confirmation before close of business."
"You'd better."
His mouth twitches. "I will."
I look at Ferrante. "The warehouse?"
"I'll get Marco anything he needs."
"Do that."
He inclines his head. “It’ll be done within the hour.”
The conversation dies naturally after that. There are no more problems, and no surprises, no excuses.
I close the final folder and set it on the table. My gaze moves between the three men. "Nothing moves without authorization."
Nobody speaks. They've heard it before, they're going to hear it again. “If something changes, I want to know."
"Understood," Enzo says.
"Immediately," I add.
Caruso nods. "Of course."
I look at Ferrante. "Any anomaly gets reported within twenty-four hours."
"Yes, boss."
I hold their gazes for a moment. "No exceptions."
Three nods. I push back my chair and stand. "That's all."
The men get to their feet, their chairs scraping against the floor. They gather their folders and within seconds, they're heading for the door. Marco waits until they've left before following them out.
The door closes behind him, leaving the room silent once again.
I glance down at my notes. North End is performing, the Waterfront delay will be fixed, and the Seaport property is worth pursuing.
All of it is good, all of it exactly where it should be.
My gaze settles on the page for a moment longer, then, against my will, I see Quinn's face. The way she looked when she walked back into the reception, the way she avoided looking at me.
I reach for the next file before the thought can go any further.
I pick up the phone. I need answers and I need someone who can look from the outside and give feedback. "Marco."
"Boss."
"I want everything we have on Orla Geraghty, I feel as though we’ve missed something. I want everything, Marco, I want to know how old she was when she lost her first tooth, all the way down to what she ate for breakfast her last day on earth."
He hesitates for a beat. "Everything?"
How hard is it to understand a simple instruction? "Everything."
"Understood."
I end the call and immediately make another. "Ciro."
"What?" He says with a sigh, he knows me too well.
"Bring Father to my office."
"Now?" He asks, there’s a hint of confusion in his voice.
"Now." The line goes dead.