Chapter 4 - The Shadow Behind Bellini Hospitality and The Missing Millions
By three in the morning, the audit was complete.
Vincent, the family’s chief financial officer, stood in Damian’s private mahogany study on the third floor. Stacks of printed bank statements, wire transfers, and shell corporation filings covered the massive desk.
I had brought a fresh pot of black coffee upstairs after tucking Elena into the velvet-draped bed in the guest suite.
Damian was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the city skyline.
Rain lashed against the reinforced glass.
“Tell me,” Damian said without turning around.
Vincent adjusted his spectacles, his pen hovering over a thick red ledger.
“It’s worse than we thought, Damian. The Vitale Bakery wasn't an isolated incident. Bianca has been running a systematic siphon through your secondary non-profit foundations for the past fourteen months.”
Damian didn't flinch. “How much?”
“Four point two million dollars.”
Vincent turned a page.
“She used your forged signature to create four separate dummy shell companies under the Bellini Hospitality umbrella. Every foundation you established in your mother’s honor—the youth boxing gym in the North Ward, the free clinic on 12th Street, the community kitchen on Elm—every single one had their operational grants redirected.”
Damian slowly turned around. His face was unreadable, but the veins on the back of his hands were bulging.
“She starved my own charities to fund her brother’s real estate development?”
“Precisely,” Vincent said. “Marco De Luca used the stolen four million as liquid collateral to secure a forty-million-dollar commercial development loan from the state bank. They were buying up the entire historic district block by block at foreclosure prices after cutting off the support funds.”
“And the city inspectors at Marco’s poker table?”
“On Marco’s payroll. They issued fake structural citations against any small business owner who refused to sell. Elena Vitale was the last holdout on the 4th Street corner. Once Marco secured her deed, Bellini Hospitality had the entire six-acre perimeter cleared for demolition.”
A knock sounded at the heavy double doors.
Matteo walked into the room.
His knuckles were bruised, and his trench coat was damp with rain.
“Boss.”
“Is it done?” Damian asked.
“Marco De Luca is in the wine cellar. Along with the two building inspectors.”
“Did he talk?”
Matteo let out a cold, dry chuckle. “He started crying the second we walked into his penthouse. He thought Bianca had already finalized the transfer of the Moretti harbor assets. He had no idea you were onto them.”
Damian walked over to the desk, picked up the file containing the forged signatures, and slipped it into the inner pocket of his coat.
“Vincent.”
“Yes, Damian?”
“Freeze every account connected to Bellini Hospitality. Use our banking leverage to call in their forty-million-dollar loan immediately. By daylight, I want Marco and Bianca De Luca completely bankrupt on paper.”
“It will take me twenty minutes,” Vincent replied smoothly.
“Good,” Damian said. He looked at me standing by the door. “Lucy.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Come with me. You’re going to witness how the Moretti family settles an insult.”
My heart skipped a beat, but I didn't back down.
I nodded and followed Damian and Matteo down the winding stone staircase into the deep belly of the mansion.
The wine cellar was cold, illuminated by dim yellow sconces set into the ancient stone walls.
In the center of the vaulted chamber, tied to heavy iron chairs, sat Marco De Luca and two overweight men in rumpled suits.
Marco was twenty-nine, handsome in a slimy, arrogant way, with slicked-back hair that was now disheveled and sticking to his sweaty forehead.
When he saw Damian step into the light, he began to thrash against the ropes.
“Damian! Damian, this is a massive misunderstanding! You can’t treat me like this! Our families are merging! Bianca is your wife in two months!”
Damian walked over slowly.
He stopped two feet in front of Marco.
He didn't scream. He didn't raise his fist.
He simply pulled out the forged document and held it in front of Marco’s face.
“Do you recognize this, Marco?”
Marco swallowed, his eyes darting frantically toward the shadows. “It’s... it’s just a standard acquisition contract. Business, Damian! Just business!”
“You stole my mother’s name,” Damian said softly. “You used my signature to steal from an old woman who gave me food when my father was bleeding out in an alley. You forced her into a food pantry line.”
Marco’s face went pasty white. “Damian, please... Bianca said you never checked the foundation accounts! She said you didn't care about the old neighborhood anymore!”
“Bianca lied,” Damian said.
May you like
He reached down, took Marco by the collar of his silk shirt, and pulled him forward until their noses almost touched.
“By dawn, Marco, every brick your company owns belongs to Elena Vitale. And if you so much as breathe near 4th Street again, you won’t leave this cellar on your two feet.”
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