I stand there for a moment, my mind working through the implications. The Benedettis' Mediterranean supplier just switched to the Marcellos. That's the third supplier this week that I know about. Plus, two warehouse closures that seemed suspicious.
"Everything okay?" Alessandro asks quietly, his trained eyes scanning for threats.
"Fine." I start walking again, my pace slightly faster. "Just business."
But my mind is racing, connecting dots I'm not sure I want to connect.
This isn't coincidence. This pattern is too deliberate, too systematic.
Someone is methodically dismantling the Benedetti operation piece by piece.
And I have a pretty good idea who that someone is.
Papa's office is on the second floor of the main administrative building. I knock once and enter without waiting for permission. He's on the phone, his back to me as he looks out the window. Holds up a finger—one minute.
I sit in the leather chair across from his desk and wait, trying to organize my thoughts.
"Yes, I understand," Papa says into the phone. "Keep me updated on any developments." He hangs up and turns to face me. "How was the meeting?"
"Productive. Antonio's handling the Rotterdam shipment personally."
"He's reliable." Papa leans back in his chair, studying me with those perceptive eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Liana." His tone is gentle but firm. "I've known you your entire life. I can tell when something's bothering you."
I hesitate, then decide there's no point in avoiding it. "The Benedettis. Their operation is falling apart rapidly."
"I've noticed that too."
"You knew?" I sit forward. "You've been monitoring it?"
"Hard not to notice when it's happening this close to our operations." Papa pulls out a file from his desk drawer and opens it. "In the past four days, they've lost two major warehouses, four significant suppliers, and three important shipping contracts. Their cash flow is essentially gone."
"Who's doing it?" Though I already know the answer.
Papa looks at me steadily, doesn't answer immediately. We both know.
"Santino," I say quietly, the name feeling strange in my mouth after days of not saying it.
"Most likely, yes."
"Why?" I ask, though part of me already knows that answer too.
"Why do you think?" Papa closes the file carefully. "He failed to protect you. Now he's systematically eliminating the threat that hurt you."
"By destroying their entire operation. Not just weakening them—destroying them completely."
"Seems that way."
I stand abruptly, needing to move. Walk to the window and look out at the port stretching below us.
"Santino Marcello is doing what he should have done from the beginning," Papa says thoughtfully. "Protecting you. Even if you don't want his protection. Even if you'll never know the full extent of what he's doing."
"I don't need his protection."
"Maybe not. But he needs to give it." Papa's voice carries understanding. "It's his way of making amends. Of proving—to himself, if no one else—that he can do better."
