Chapter Sixteen
Taddeo
Nobody who survived long inside a criminal organization mistook innocence for the standard by which men were judged, which made investigating Mauro Corsi considerably more complicated than calling him into a room and asking whether he stole from the Bellandis.
Taddeo already knew Mauro stole. So did Cesare, within limits, although no one used that word for the quiet percentage a capo shaved from a contract he developed himself, the cash that never appeared in a Family ledger, or the investment hidden behind enough legitimate paperwork that only an accountant with a personal grievance would bother finding it.
The Bellandis were not a corporation pretending every dollar belonged exactly where the books said it did.
Men who spent their lives extracting money through pressure, favors, hidden ownership, and businesses designed to blur the line between legal and illegal did not become offended by ordinary greed merely because the greed happened inside their own organization.
There was still a line.
Nine hundred thousand dollars hidden by a capo who remained loyal to Cesare was theft the Bellandis knew how to understand.
Twenty-four point eight million routed through false historical records, altered property values, shell companies, freight structures, and outside administrators was something else entirely.
That was not a man taking more than his share.
It was an alternative financial system being built inside the Bellandis without Cesare's knowledge, and if Mauro had created it, the distinction between an irritatingly greedy capo and a traitor had already disappeared.
Taddeo met him shortly after three in a private dining room above a Bellandi-controlled restaurant in Crownport's old Italian district.
The restaurant remained closed between lunch and dinner, kitchen staff moving below while chairs sat inverted on tables and the upstairs room retained the smells of espresso, polished wood, garlic, and wine from the previous night.
Orsino stood near the windows with his reading glasses in one hand, while Marco occupied a position near the door that was deliberately unobtrusive and therefore impossible for Mauro not to notice.
Mauro stopped when he saw the folders on the table. “This looks unpleasant. I was told you wanted to talk, not that I needed a lawyer.”
Taddeo remained seated. “If you needed a lawyer, I wouldn't have asked you here.”
“That is somehow less reassuring.” Mauro took the chair opposite him anyway, tugging his dark jacket into place before looking toward Orsino. “And he's here because?”
“Because anything you tell me today reaches Cesare accurately.” Taddeo pushed the first document across the table. “Start with that.”
Mauro looked down at the forged preservation certificate Isolde had authenticated the previous day. Keystone Heritage Consulting appeared near the bottom beneath a signature that had almost certainly been copied from another document. The casual irritation disappeared from Mauro's face as he read.
“What about it?”
“You own Keystone through Maynard Development.”
“Yes. You already know that.”
“I also know the certificate was manufactured and used to support waterfront property transactions connected to diverted Bellandi money.”
Mauro looked at the page again, this time more carefully. “Manufactured how?”
“Copied signatures, wrong municipal seal for the date, language that didn't exist when the certificate was supposedly issued, and physical defects lifted from legitimate museum records.” Taddeo watched him rather than the document. “Your company sits in the authorization chain.”
For several seconds Mauro said nothing. Then he leaned back and gave a short, humorless laugh. “So this is about Dacre.”
Taddeo's expression did not change.
Mauro noticed anyway. “You have his files.”
“Don't start deciding what information in this room can become useful to you. You're here to answer questions.”
“And I'm a capo in this Family, not some kid you caught stealing from a register.” Mauro's temper came closer to the surface now, stripped of the social performance he'd brought into the room. “If you think I took twenty-five million dollars from Cesare, say it.”
“I think companies you control intersect too many parts of the missing-money structure for coincidence to be comfortable.” Taddeo leaned back slightly. “So tell me why Keystone appears on forged redevelopment records.”
Mauro held his gaze. “I don't know.”
“Who runs it?”
“Peter Ansel.”
“You appointed him.”
“Yes.”
“And he knows who owns Maynard.”
“He knows private investors sit behind it. He doesn't know Cesare's name, and he doesn't need to.”
Taddeo slid a shorter list across the table. “Keystone received money from Calder Maritime, Arbor Municipal Services, and East Vey Development.”
Mauro's eyes moved down the page.
His reaction at East Vey lasted less than a second.
It was enough.
Taddeo tapped the name. “You know it.”
“I know hundreds of companies.”
“You didn't react to the other two.”
Mauro's mouth tightened. “East Vey was involved in two warehouse transactions a few years ago. Not Bellandi purchases.”
“Whose?”
“I don't know. Maynard received a consulting fee through one of the transactions.”
“And you kept part of it off the books.”
Mauro looked up sharply.
Taddeo did not blink. “How much are you taking, Mauro?”
The question changed the room more effectively than a threat would have.
Mauro's fingers flattened against the table. “From what?”
“Don't waste my time. Keystone overbills. Maynard overbills. You have property interests Cesare doesn't have on his books, and your reported development income does not match what your companies actually receive.” Taddeo slid the list back toward him. “How much?”
Mauro stared at him for several seconds before some internal calculation ended. “Depends on the year.”
“Last year.”
“A little under nine hundred.”
“Thousand.”
Mauro gave him a look. “Don't insult me.”
Orsino moved from the window at last, although his voice remained mild. “Cesare may take a less philosophical view of nine hundred thousand dollars than you appear to.”
Mauro turned toward him. “Cesare knows every capo in this city has money he doesn't know about.”
“He knows hidden money exists,” Orsino said. “That is not necessarily the same as approving the amount.”
Mauro looked back at Taddeo. “You want my private books?”
“Yes.”
“You've become very comfortable forgetting I'm not one of your soldiers.”
“And you've become comfortable forgetting I outrank you.” Taddeo did not raise his voice, because rank became meaningless if it required constant performance. “The books arrive tonight.”
The anger stayed in Mauro's face, but after several seconds he nodded. “Fine. You'll have them.”
The admission clarified one problem while complicating another.
Nine hundred thousand hidden in a year was substantial enough to explain irregular books and enough secret activity to make Mauro look guilty whenever anyone investigated companies he controlled.
It was nowhere close to the architecture Corwin had documented, and a man already stealing in ordinary, profitable ways had an obvious reason to conceal transactions without necessarily having built the larger scheme.
Taddeo slid the freight report across next. “Your companies also used forwarders tied to Serevin interests.”
Mauro barely glanced at the first page. “Everyone in the northern harbor uses companies tied to Serevin interests. They own warehouses through cousins, shells, partnerships, and people who swear they're independent until somebody checks who financed the building.”
“Varna Consolidated.”
“I know it.”
“Kestrel North.”
“I've seen it.”
“Blue March Logistics.”
Mauro frowned. “Not directly.”
Taddeo watched the reaction. “East Vey paid Blue March. Blue March paid Keystone. Blue March also leased capacity through a Serevin-adjacent company.”
“And you think that makes me Serevin?”
“I think it makes the pathway interesting.”
Mauro pushed the page back. “Or it makes somebody competent at choosing companies that already have reasons to touch my businesses.”
Orsino's attention sharpened.
Taddeo stayed still. “Explain.”
Mauro gave another humorless laugh. “I'm already known to skim.
Lelio has spent six months telling anyone who'll listen that my waterfront books are sloppy.
My companies touch construction, freight, redevelopment, permits, half the exact places you'd use if you wanted questionable money to look like mine.
If somebody wanted you to find Mauro Corsi when you started pulling on this thread, they couldn't ask for better ground.”
“And if you built it yourself, the same explanation protects you.”
“Yes.” Mauro spread both hands briefly. “Welcome to why this conversation is irritating.”
Taddeo almost respected the answer.
Almost.
“Peter Ansel,” he said. “What does he control personally?”
“Daily Keystone operations. He can approve contracts below certain thresholds and has access to old project archives.”
“Could he fabricate the records without you seeing them?”
“Could? Yes. Did? I don't know.” Mauro hesitated before adding, “His brother-in-law got into trouble with a Serevin sports book last year. Twenty thousand, maybe more.”
Taddeo's gaze hardened. “You waited until now to mention that.”
“You hadn't asked about Ansel's family.”
“You knew I was asking about Serevin connections.”
“I know fifty people with Serevin connections. In Crownport that isn't evidence; it's weather.”
Annoyingly, that was true.
Taddeo gathered the pages into a single stack. “Your books tonight. Ansel stays unaware we're looking at him. Felix Ordo too.”
Mauro's expression tightened at the second name. “Ordo works for me.”
“Which is why you should want to know whether somebody used your companies to move millions without you noticing.”
“And when this is over, you're going to tell Cesare exactly how cooperative I was.”
“If you were.”