Chapter Eighteen #2
“Then why shut it down?” Spike asks.
“Because the man managing the company began accepting money from people who wanted access to our routes,” I explain. “He stopped caring who was being transported or why. Helping desperate families was no longer enough for him. He wanted profit.”
“And profit attracts monsters,” Stefano says.
“He tried to turn our rescue network into a trafficking route. Drugs, weapons, women. He didn’t care what moved through those warehouses as long as someone paid him.
The very routes we created to carry vulnerable people to safety were being used to transport others directly into hell. We couldn’t allow it.
“Damn!” Skip whispers.
“Yes,” Stefano answers coldly. “I shut down every warehouse, destroyed every record, dismantled the routes, and personally ensured he would never exploit another person.”
His voice doesn’t change, but I know my brother well enough to hear what the other men can’t.
Stefano remembers every detail.
He remembers the people who were harmed because someone we trusted became greedy. He remembers believing it was his fault because the operation had been under his control when the betrayal occurred.
It wasn’t.
I told him that then.
I doubt he ever believed me.
I return my attention to the company name displayed on Foster’s screen.
“Yet somehow,” I say, “the company is operating again.”
“And one of its drivers is looking for the Moretti family,” Spike adds.
“The fact that they’re using the same name is strange, right?” Skip asks. “If they’re trying to hide whatever they’re doing, why bring back the name of a company you shut down?”
“It’s more than strange,” Stefano says. “It’s either incredibly foolish or deliberately disrespectful.”
Possibly both.
“Luca,” I say. “Contact my second in Ohio. Ask him whether we sold the building that once housed Riverfront Shipping.”
“If we did, it wasn’t reported,” Luca tells me. “I met with our financial team last week. There have been no records of any properties being bought or sold in Ohio within the past year.”
“So, you still own it?” Spike asks.
“Unless someone made a very serious error,” Luca answers.
My family doesn’t make errors involving properties that large.
The old Riverfront warehouse sits near the Ohio River, with enough room to house more than fifty trucks at a time. It was selected because it provided easy access to several major highways, allowing our drivers to move people quickly in every direction.
When Stefano dismantled the operation, we shut the building down but never sold it. Abandoned Moretti properties have their uses, and unlike most legitimate businessmen, we have no need to justify why valuable real estate sits empty.
“Go ahead and call him,” I instruct. “Find out the last time he personally inspected the property and whether anyone has accessed it since the company closed. We’ll decide how to move forward based on his answers.”
“Yes, Don.”
Luca steps away from the group and pulls out his phone.
“Wouldn’t your people have noticed if someone reopened an entire shipping company inside a building you own?” Bones asks.
“They should have,” Stefano says.
My brother looks at me, and I recognize the anger settling behind his eyes. If the warehouse is being used without our knowledge, someone in Ohio has either become careless, incompetent, or compromised.
None of those possibilities will end well for them.
“What if they’re only using the company’s name?” Spike asks. “The trucks could be operating out of another warehouse.”
“Then Chris Olsen’s employment records wouldn’t connect him to their old address,” Foster says, looking at a file on my laptop Luca was showing him before he stepped out.
“His tax records list Riverfront Shipping as his employer. Same company name. Same address. According to every record I can access, the business has been operating out of that building for nearly eleven months.”
Eleven months.
Someone has been running trucks in and out of a Moretti-owned warehouse for almost a year without my knowledge?
I slowly rise from my chair.
“Foster,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “Find out everything you can about the company’s current operations. Employees, trucks, contracts, deliveries. Everything.”
“I’m on it.”
“Spike, please send me Chris Olsen's contact information,” I say. “I’ll set up a meeting and would appreciate it if you were there.”
Spike nods.
Luca turns back toward us, his phone still pressed against his ear.
No one needs to ask whether the call has gone well.
His expression tells us it hasn’t.
“He isn’t answering,” Luca says.
“When did you last speak to him?”
“Three days ago.”
“Was anything unusual?”
“No. He gave me the same weekly report he always does. There were no problems in the territory and nothing requiring our attention.”
“Apparently,” Stefano says coldly, “he neglected to mention quite a few things.”
“He’s been loyal to us for many years,” Luca says. “I truly don’t believe he’s involved in whatever this is.”
“Loyal men can still miss things,” Stefano replies.
“And loyal men can be forced into silence,” Spike adds.
Neither possibility is particularly comforting.
“All right.” I check my watch and realize I have less than ten minutes before I’m expected downstairs. “I promised the children I would join them for reading class today. I’ll let everyone know once the meeting with Chris Olsen has been arranged.”
“Here or at the compound?” Spike asks.
I don’t like either option.
The estate houses my family, several children, and people who have already suffered enough for one lifetime. The compound is filled with the Shadows’ women and children. Bringing an unknown man into either location simply because he claims to have information would be foolish.
“We should consider investing in a joint property away from our families for situations like this,” I say. “Bringing unknown men to either location is too great a risk.”
“Patch has an empty cabin on his land,” Skip offers. “I don’t think he’d mind if we utilized it from time to time.”
“Reach out and ask him,” Spike says.
Skip nods, then looks at me as if something has only just occurred to him.
“Wait. How are you joining the children’s reading class? I thought they attended public school now.”
“Some of them do,” I explain. “But most of the parents have chosen to continue homeschooling their children because our tutors are privately contracted.”
There was a time when nearly every child living under Moretti protection was educated inside the estate. It offered privacy, flexibility, and, most importantly, security. Some of the children now attend public school because their parents want them to experience a more ordinary childhood.
Others cannot safely do so.
“So, the tutors know about the family business?” Skip asks with a smirk.
“Yes.” I smile. “They know about the family business.”
“What does that mean exactly?” he asks, looking far too amused by the entire conversation.
“It means they understand that the children’s schedules may differ from those of ordinary students.
Most of our males are training to become guards for their future Don, so they spend a considerable amount of time in specialized classes.
Our teachers work their academic lessons around those schedules. ”
The training changes according to their ages. The youngest boys are taught discipline, family history, basic self-defense, and the importance of protecting those who cannot protect themselves. As they grow older, the lessons become more demanding.
No child is forced into service. At least not while I’m Don. But those who choose this life will be properly prepared for it.
“What do the girls learn?” Foster asks.
“Whatever they wish.”
He looks surprised by that answer.
“If they want to become guards, they receive the same training as the males. If they want to attend college, we prepare them for college. If they want nothing to do with the family business, they are given the education and resources required to build a life outside it. We don’t, however, force them into marriages like other families do. ”
“Though many families have tried arranging marriage with some of our girls over the years,” Stefano says. “They quickly learned that we don’t operate like that.”
“Your world is scary,” Skip says, shaking his head. “Where do I sign up?”
“You don’t.”
His smile falls. “Why not?”
“You wouldn’t survive the reading class.”
“I know how to read.”
“Without pictures?” Bones asks.
Skip places a hand over his heart. “You people are hurtful.”
“You asked,” Spike reminds him.
“I changed my mind. I don’t feel emotionally safe here.”
Laughing, I make my way toward the door.
“I’ll get the meeting arranged,” I tell them. “Luca, find out what happened to our man in Ohio.”
The humor inside the room fades almost instantly.
“I’ll handle it, Don,” Luca promises.
I nod and leave them to their work.
For the next hour, I’ll sit with my family and listen to children read.
Afterward, I will discover who’s been operating inside a Moretti-owned warehouse and whether they’ve made the fatal mistake of harming one of my men.