Chapter 7 - The Strike at Sunrise
By 6:00 AM the following morning, the tranquility of the Marchetti estate was shattered not by a quiet sunrise, but by Gabriel Ferraro’s urgent, pounding knock on the master suite door.
Elias was already awake, standing by the window dressed in a dark tactical turtleneck and slacks. Maeve stirred in the vast, warm bed behind him, her eyes blinking open against the morning light.
“What is it, Gabriel?” Elias asked, opening the door just enough to block the hallway from her view.
“We have a coordinated strike, Boss,” Gabriel reported, his voice tight with controlled fury. “All three South Side container terminals have shut down simultaneously. The union foremen walked off the job an hour ago. Victor Vance is behind it. He’s using the dockworkers to choke our supply chains, and he’s broadcasting it as a protest against the Marchetti Foundation’s ‘corporate interference.’”
Elias’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking violently near his cheek. “He thinks he can starve my logistics network to test if I’ve gone soft.”
“What are you going to do?” Maeve asked, sitting up in bed, the white sheet pulled up to her chest, her eyes wide with immediate concern. She had heard enough over the past few months to understand the language of syndicate war.
Elias turned back toward her, his expression softening instantly as his gaze locked onto her face. He walked back to the bed, sitting on the edge and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“I am going to remind Victor Vance why his grandfather learned to keep his mouth shut when a Marchetti walked into a room,” Elias said quietly.
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“Elias, don’t walk into a trap,” Maeve pleaded, catching his hand. “Vance wants you to react with violence. He wants the media to see the ‘ruthless mob boss’ crushing a labor dispute.”
Elias smiled—a dark, brilliant flash of absolute confidence. “Who said anything about violence, my love? Sometimes, a monopoly doesn’t need a gun. It just needs better math.”
