The Mafia Boss Saw His Assistant Laughing With the New Capo — And What He Did Next Shocked Her

The spreadsheet blurred before my eyes as I blinked hard, willing away the fatigue that had become my constant companion. Three years, two months, seventeen days. That's how long I'd been Dante Moretti's executive assistant, tracking his meetings, managing his territory operations, and pretending not to notice the way every single person in this organization moved through the world like they were one wrong word away from disappearing.
I didn't have that luxury. Someone had to tell Dante when his 3 p.m. conflicted with his other 3 p.m., and apparently I was the only one willing to risk the glacial silence that followed.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, reconciling tomorrow's logistics for the shipment routes through the Port of Newark. Dante Moretti didn't accept excuses, only solutions. Three years as his right hand had taught me to anticipate problems six moves ahead, like chess but with federal investigations and territorial disputes disguised as legitimate business acquisitions.
The office smelled like leather and expensive whiskey, undertones of cedar from whatever cologne Dante wore that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. The Moretti family controlled everything from the docks to the downtown restaurants, all wrapped in the veneer of legitimate enterprise.
I'd stopped asking questions about the discrepancies I noticed in the paperwork about two years ago. I just made sure the numbers aligned perfectly, the alibis were airtight, and Dante's calendar never showed him anywhere near the actual crime.
My phone buzzed. Internal line. I glanced at the security camera feed showing the main entrance. A car had just pulled up, expensive and unfamiliar.
The intercom crackled to life. "Miss Chen." Dante's voice carried that particular edge that meant he was tracking something I hadn't anticipated yet.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti."
"Luca Santoro arrives in three minutes. Make sure the conference room is prepared. Espresso, not coffee. The Pellegrino contracts on the table, not the desk."
I was already moving, pulling up Luca Santoro's file on my secondary monitor. New capo, recently transferred from the Chicago famiglia. Thirty-two years old, decorated military background before joining the organization, reputation for being both charming and lethal in equal measure. Dante had been consolidating power by bringing in outside talent, and Santoro was apparently the latest acquisition.
"The Pellegrino contracts are confidential," I said carefully. "Should I prepare the standard NDA, or has he already been cleared?"
A pause. The kind that made junior associates sweat. I'd learned to find it almost meditative.
"He's been cleared. He'll be working directly with you on the port consolidation project."
My hands stilled on the keyboard. "Directly with me?"
"You have a problem with that, Miss Chen?"
"No problem, Mr. Moretti. I just wasn't aware the port project required additional personnel." I kept my tone professionally neutral, the same voice I'd use to confirm a dentist appointment. "Should I adjust my workflow projections?"
"Santoro has connections with the longshoremen's union that we need. You have the strategic oversight. Between you, this deal closes within thirty days." His tone shifted slightly, almost imperceptible. "I trust you'll maintain your usual standard of excellence."