Chapter 7 - The Romano AllianceDamen glared at his cousin, his jaw set tightly. "This is a family matter, Francesca. The Romano faction has no say in how I handle the Bratva."
"It becomes a Romano matter when your emotional instability threatens our joint shipping infrastructure," Francesca countered smoothly, walking over to where I sat on the edge of the bed. She looked down at me, her sharp brown eyes analyzing me with a clinical but surprisingly gentle curiosity. "So, you're the girl who turned the Ice Don into a desperate romantic. I must admit, Clare, you have excellent skin under all that stress."
"Francesca," Damen warned, his voice dangerous.
"Relax, cousin," Francesca said, rolling her eyes before turning her attention back to me. "Clare, my husband is the lead corporate strategist for the Romano Group. For the past three months, we’ve been tracking Borsov’s financial assets. He doesn't keep his money in Russia anymore; it’s all tied up in a network of luxury real estate holding companies right here in Manhattan."
She pulled a slim digital tablet from her briefcase, sliding it across the bed sheets toward me.
"Borsov’s entire liquidity is tied to the construction of the new Atlantic Towers development downtown," Francesca explained. "He leveraged eighty percent of his syndicate’s cash reserves to secure the construction loans. If those loans are called in early, or if the construction site is halted by the city due to financial irregularities, the Bratva goes completely broke within forty-eight hours. They won't have enough money to pay their soldiers, let alone fund a war against the Morettis."
I looked at the data on the screen. My father had been an accountant before he passed away, and he had taught me how to read financial spreadsheets when I was a teenager. As I scanned the numbers, a realization hit me.
"These holding companies," I pointed to a column on the digital sheet. "They aren't legally registered under Borsov’s name. They’re registered under a shell company called 'Vanguard North'. And Vanguard North’s primary lines of credit are issued by..."
"Callaway Freight Systems," a familiar corporate name flashed at the bottom of the document.
I looked up at Damen, then back at Francesca. "The logistics empire out of Boston? The one owned by Nathaniel Callaway?"
"The very same," Francesca nodded, a cold, victorious smile touching her lips. "Nathaniel Callaway recently restructured his entire corporate foundation after a massive personal scandal involving his former fiancée. He’s been aggressively purging any dirty money or compromised clients from his shipping networks. He has no idea his credit lines are being used by the Russian mob to build a money-laundering real estate project in New York."
I looked at Damen. "If we show Nathaniel Callaway the proof that his company is inadvertently funding a criminal syndicate, he will pull the credit lines instantly to protect his own corporate reputation."
Damen walked over, staring down at the tablet, his eyes narrowing as he processed the legal strategy. For the first time in days, the murderous rage in his face faded, replaced by the brilliant, calculating intellect that had made him the king of Manhattan.
May you like
"Callaway is an old-money traditionalist," Damen muttered, rubbing his chin. "He won't meet with a Moretti. He hates the syndicates."
"He won't meet with you, Damen," I said, standing up from the bed, my voice suddenly filled with an absolute, unyielding determination. "But he will meet with me. I am the Director of the Astoria Community Association, and his foundation just approved a grant for my neighborhood last month. Let me fly to Boston. Let me handle this without a single shot being fired."
