Chapter 15 Liana
I arrive at the port by six in the morning, when the Mediterranean is still painted in shades of rose and gold from the rising sun.
The water stretches out before me, peaceful in these early hours before the chaos of commerce begins.
It's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache, knowing that in three weeks, this won't be mine to manage anymore.
Papa's car pulls up beside mine a few minutes later, his driver opening the door for him. He emerges slowly, more slowly than he used to, and I can see the toll that months of declining health have taken on him, though he tries his best to hide it from everyone, especially from me.
"Buongiorno, Liana." His voice is warm despite the early hour.
"Buongiorno, Papa." I kiss both his cheeks, studying his face with concern. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Fine, fine." He waves away my concern with the same dismissive gesture he's used my entire life. "Tell me about the shipment."
"It should arrive within the hour. I checked with Dario first thing this morning, and he confirmed there are no delays on their end."
"Good." He starts walking toward the main warehouse, and I fall into step beside him, matching his slower pace. "And the customs situation?"
"All handled. I spoke with Moretti yesterday afternoon, and he's expecting the paperwork to come through today."
"I heard he asked for more money." Papa's tone is neutral, but I can hear the disapproval underneath.
"He always asks for more money. I negotiated him down to an additional five percent instead of the fifteen he initially wanted."
Papa glances at me, his expression thoughtful. "Five percent is still more than we originally agreed to pay."
"Five percent is reasonable given the current political climate.
" I pull out my phone and show him the news articles I've saved over the past week.
"The new minister has been cracking down hard on port operations throughout the region.
Three arrests last month alone, and two more just this past week.
Moretti isn't being greedy by asking for more.
He's being careful, and that kind of caution is worth paying for. "
Papa takes my phone from me and reads through the articles, his expression remaining carefully neutral, though I know he's impressed with the research I've done. He's always impressed with my work, which only makes this entire situation more frustrating.
He trained me too well to let me go easily.
We reach Warehouse Seven, where several men are already waiting for us in the early morning light. I recognize most of them by name and reputation. They all straighten immediately when they see us approaching.
"Don Dominic." Antonio steps forward first, nodding respectfully. "Miss Costa."
"Antonio. How are things progressing this morning?"
"Very good. The night crew finished unloading the Valencia shipment around four this morning, and everything has been properly accounted for."
"Were there any issues with the inventory counts?" I'm already mentally comparing his numbers against the manifest I reviewed last night.
"None at all. The count was completely clean, just as expected."
I pull out my tablet and check the numbers against our internal records.
The Valencia shipment was officially listed as textiles on all the customs paperwork, but in reality, we're moving luxury goods that are avoiding the hefty import taxes.
Designer handbags, expensive watches, high-end electronics.
It's not drugs, and it's certainly not weapons.
Papa has always kept our operations relatively clean, at least by the standards of our world.
Relatively clean, anyway.
"The numbers match perfectly," I confirm after reviewing everything. "Has distribution already started?"
"We're waiting for your approval before we move anything," Dario says, looking directly at me rather than at Papa.
Not Papa's approval. Mine.
Because I'm the one who designed and implemented this entire distribution network over the past two years. I'm the one who spent months cultivating the relationships with the retailers who purchase from us. I'm the one who organized every aspect of this operation from the ground up.
Papa watches silently as I pull up the detailed distribution schedule on my tablet.
"We'll split the shipment three ways," I say, speaking with the authority I've earned.
"Forty percent goes to Milano, thirty-five percent to Roma, and twenty-five percent stays here for local distribution.
Milano gets first choice on the watches since they move luxury goods much faster than the other markets.
Roma takes the majority of the handbags.
We keep the electronics here for local distribution where we have better control. "
Dario nods, already taking detailed notes on his own tablet.
"And what about the Valencia contact?" Papa asks, testing me even though he already knows the answer. "Was he satisfied with the payment we arranged?"
"Very satisfied with everything. He's already asking about placing our next order, which shows he values the relationship we've built.
" I look at Antonio directly. "Which brings me to an important point about the Lisboa shipment.
It's currently scheduled to arrive next week, but I think we need to delay it. "
Antonio frowns, clearly surprised by this suggestion. "Delay? For what reason?"
"Because the Lisboa route has been flagged by authorities.
" I pull up another news article on my tablet and hold it out for them to see.
"Portuguese authorities seized two major shipments just last week.
Different families entirely, but they were using the exact same route we've been relying on.
They're clearly watching that corridor very carefully now. "
"The Lisboa contact isn't going to be happy about any kind of delay," he points out, concern evident in his voice.
"The Lisboa contact will be significantly less happy if we proceed as planned and his entire shipment gets seized by Portuguese customs," I counter firmly. "We delay for two weeks minimum. Let the increased scrutiny die down. Then we reroute everything through Barcelona instead of Lisboa."
"Barcelona is going to be considerably more expensive," Dario says, already calculating the additional costs.
"Barcelona is significantly safer, which makes it worth the extra expense." I look at Papa, meeting his eyes directly. "We lose two weeks of time and pay an additional three percent on transport costs. But we don't risk losing the entire shipment, which would cost us infinitely more."
Papa considers this carefully for a long moment. "Antonio? I'd like to hear your thoughts on this."
Antonio looks at me first, then at Papa, weighing his response. "She makes an excellent point that we should take seriously. The Lisboa route is extremely hot right now with all this increased attention from authorities. It would be much better to wait and reroute."
"Then we wait and reroute as Liana suggested." Papa nods his approval. "Liana, I want you to coordinate directly with the Barcelona contact and set everything up for two weeks from now."
"It's already done. I called him yesterday afternoon as soon as I saw the news about the seizures."
Of course I did. Because I saw this situation developing days ago, when I first read about the Portuguese authorities cracking down, and I've been planning our response ever since.
Papa's expression softens just slightly, pride mixing with something else that looks almost like regret. Maybe he's finally realizing what he's giving up by handing me over to Santino.
We continue the meeting for another hour, and I walk them through all the detailed financials—which specific operations are profitable and by how much, which ones need adjustment or restructuring, and where exactly we're exposed to risk.
I've been managing these books personally for two years now, ever since Papa decided to train me properly.
I know every single euro that comes in and every euro that goes out, and I understand the business better than anyone except Papa himself.
And in three weeks, I'm expected to hand all of this over to Santino Marcello.
After the meeting finally concludes, Papa and I walk along the docks together in the strengthening morning light.
The port is fully awake now, bustling with activity.
Ships are unloading their cargo. Workers are shouting instructions to each other in Italian and Portuguese and Greek.
The smell of salt water mixes with diesel fuel and fish, a combination that's become as familiar to me as my own perfume.
"You were very good in there this morning," Papa says quietly.
"I'm always good in there. You know that."
"Yes. You are." He stops walking and looks out at the water, watching a container ship being guided into port. "You're better than I ever expected when I first started training you all those years ago."
"Then why are you taking it all away from me?" The question hangs between us in the salt air, heavy with everything I haven't been allowed to say.
"Liana—"
"You've been training me since I was ten years old, Papa.
Teaching me every aspect of the business.
Bringing me to important meetings. Showing me exactly how everything works and why.
" I turn to face him directly, refusing to look away.
"Why would you invest all that time and effort if you never actually intended to let me run any of it? "
"I did intend to let you run it." His voice is quieter than I've ever heard it.
"Once. When you were younger and I was more idealistic, I genuinely thought that maybe the world would change fast enough.
That by the time I was ready to step down and retire, our world would finally accept a woman in a position of real power. "
"And it won't?" I already know the answer, but I need to hear him say it.