Chapter 28 - The Rhythm of the Tides
Frank walked out onto the wooden planks, his heavy boots thudding rhythmically against the boards before he set the wooden crate down near the bench.
“Morning, Boss. Morning, Fay,” Frank greeted, nodding respectfully. He popped open the lid of the crate to reveal a collection of freshly overhauled marine reels and specialized tackle. “Thought I’d check the motor on the skiff before the afternoon tide comes in. Coast Guard reports the lower channel is clear as glass all the way down to Cape Charles.”
“You drove an hour and a half just to inspect a boat motor, Frank?” I raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Traffic was nonexistent,” Frank deadpanned, though a rare, genuine grin broke through his weathered features. “And besides, someone has to make sure you two haven’t forgotten how to bait a hook.”
Fay laughed brightly, setting her coffee mug down on the dock railing. “I’ll have you know, Frank, my knot-tying skills were rigorously tested during our corporate retreats in upstate New York.”
“Corporate retreats involving automatic weapons and offshore banking ledgers don’t quite qualify as fishing trips, Fay,” Frank chuckled, picking up a reel and beginning to inspect the drag mechanism with practiced precision.
I leaned against the wooden piling, looking out over the water with a profound sense of absolute contentment. For years, every conversation, every morning briefing, and every movement had been dictated by survival—by the silent war of attrition against syndicates, corrupt politicians, and federal agents who viewed us as targets. Now, our biggest debate was whether the striped bass were running closer to the marsh grass or out in the deeper channel.
The transition hadn't happened overnight, but it was absolute. Moretti Logistics operated as an independent, highly transparent maritime corporation managed by trusted executives who had earned their positions through competence rather than blood loyalty. The dark empire of the docks had evolved into a legitimate global shipping titan, leaving us free to claim the only prize that truly mattered: our own peace.
“Well,” I said, clapping Frank on the shoulder as I straightened up. “If you’re going to inspect the skiff, you can join us for lunch. Fay is trying out a new seafood recipe she picked up from Matteo’s kitchen in Little Italy.”
Frank’s eyes lit up instantly. “Matteo’s red snapper recipe?”
May you like
“The very same,” Fay smiled.
“In that case,” Frank declared, picking up his tools with renewed vigor, “I’ll have the engine purring like a kitten in ten minutes.”
