Chapter 3 - THE BATTLE FOR THE PORTS
By noon the following day, the storm had passed, leaving behind a cold, sharp sun that reflected off the gray waters of the Atlantic.
Inside the Riverdale estate, Cindy stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private library, wrapped in a thick cashmere sweater that belonged to Andrew. Her left eye was still discolored, and two of her ribs were tightly bandaged, but her posture had regained some of its familiar stiffness.
On the mahogany table behind her sat her encrypted work laptop, which Lucas had retrieved from her apartment along with a fresh change of clothes.
The door pushed open, and Andrew walked in. He was wearing a fresh charcoal suit, his dark hair neatly combed, though the light exhaustion around his eyes revealed he hadn't slept a single minute.
"You should be resting," he said, walking over to her.
"I can't rest when the Port Authority manifests are four hours behind schedule," Cindy replied, turning to look at him. She pointed at the laptop screen. "Andrew, Rossy sent three panicked emails to the main server before his account was locked down. And Romano Logistics has just filed an emergency petition with the maritime board to seize control of Pier 42."
Andrew looked down at the screen, then up at her. A faint, rare smile touched the corner of his firm mouth. "You're injured, under my roof, hiding from a domestic threat, and you're still auditing my shipping manifests."
"It's my job," she said, her cheeks coloring slightly under his intense gaze. "And besides... I know what Romano is trying to do. He thinks because you left the office last night, your focus is split. He thinks you're vulnerable."
"I am vulnerable," Andrew said quietly.
Cindy froze, looking at him in surprise.
"My whole life, I believed that having nothing to lose was my greatest advantage," Andrew said, stepping closer to her until she could feel the heat radiating from his broad chest. "I built an empire because I didn't care about anything enough to let it stop me. But last night... when I heard you cry through that phone... I knew that if anything happened to you, I would burn this entire city to the ground without a second thought."
Cindy’s chest heaved. Her heart beat against her ribcage like a trapped bird. "Andrew..."
"Stay here today," he commanded softly, touching the soft curve of her neck with his long fingers. "Lucas will guard the perimeter. I have a meeting with the maritime board at three o'clock. By four, Marcus Romano will realize his mistake."
"Don't go alone," she blurted out, her fingers instinctively reaching out to clasp his lapel. "Romano doesn't play by the rules, Andrew. If he knows about me—if he knows I'm the reason you left—he'll use it."
"Let him try," Andrew said, his eyes flashing with a dark, terrifying confidence. "He'll find out what happens when you touch something that belongs to me."
Two hours later, Andrew’s three-vehicle motorcade pulled into the courtyard of the Federal Maritime Building downtown.
The grand marble hall was cold and quiet. Sitting at the long mahogany conference table was Marcus Romano—a lean, silver-haired man in his late fifties with cold blue eyes and a gold signet ring on his pinky finger. Surrounding him were four attorneys and three heavy-set men with concealed shoulder holsters.
"Andrew," Romano drawled, leaning back in his leather chair and swirling a glass of sparkling water. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show. Word on the docks was that you were... preoccupied with domestic distractions last night."
Andrew walked to the head of the table, pulling back his chair and sitting down slowly. He didn't bring attorneys. He didn't bring documents. He brought only himself and his reputation.
"You took a meeting with Rossy at midnight," Andrew said, placing his hands flat on the polished table. "And you offered him two hundred thousand dollars to leak the manifest keys for Pier 42."
Romano’s smug smile faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered. "Business is business, Carter. You left the floor. You abandoned your post for a little secretary. In our world, a boss who loses his head over a skirt isn't fit to hold four miles of deep-water access."
"Is that what you think happened?" Andrew asked softly.
He reached into his inner jacket pocket. Romano’s bodyguards instantly shifted, their hands moving toward their coats, but Andrew didn't pull a weapon.
He pulled out a thick, black leather folder and tossed it onto the center of the table.
"That is the full tax record, wiretap log, and offshore banking audit of Romano Enterprises for the last seven years," Andrew said smoothly. "Compiled by the very assistant you just insulted. She’s been building that file for eighteen months, Romano. Just in case you ever decided to cross the river."
Romano’s face turned gray. He snatched the folder, flipping through the pages with frantic, trembling fingers. The detailed transaction logs, complete with account numbers from Zurich and Grand Cayman, were immaculate—itemized, ruthless, and deadly.
"If I press send on my phone right now," Andrew continued, his voice dropping into a register that made the attorneys in the room shiver, "the Federal District Attorney will have those files in thirty seconds. You will be arrested before you reach your car, and your entire organization will be seized under the RICO act by nightfall."
May you like
Romano slammed the folder shut, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "What do you want?" he hissed.
"I want Pier 42," Andrew said calmly. "I want your resignation from the maritime board. And if I ever hear your men mention the name Cindy Stone again... I won't use the D.A. I'll come for you myself."
