His gaze meets mine. "It will be."
I hold it for a second longer, then move on.
"Good." The Waterfront operation sits at the center of too many moving pieces for delays to be tolerated.
I move on. "Seaport."
Ferrante slides a folder across the table before I even finish speaking. Interesting.
Ferrante is thirty-two, young for a site manager, younger still for a man running the Seaport operation. Most men spend years proving themselves before they're trusted with something this important. He's only had the position for six months. His predecessor made the mistake of skimming from the Famiglia, a move which found him at the bottom of the harbor.
Ferrante got the job because he was competent. He's kept it because he's better than competent.
I open the folder to find projections, storage figures, revenue forecasts, and property details. A hell of a lot more information than I asked for.
I skim through it. "What's this?"
"The warehouse beside ours." I look up at his words. "It's on the market."
That gets my attention. The Seaport site is our most valuable distribution point. Additional storage solves problems before they become problems. Most people wait until they're running out of space.
Ferrante is planning two years ahead.
"You've run the numbers?" I ask, already knowing what he’ll say.
"Three times."
I knew it. "And?"
"It makes sense."
I study him for a moment. There’s absolutely no hesitation, no overselling. Just utter confidence in his work.
I hand the folder to Marco. "Pull everything,” I tell him and he nods. "If the numbers hold up, we'll move on it."
Ferrante inclines his head, satisfied, as he should be. Six months ago, he inherited a problem. Since then, he's increased efficiency, reduced costs, and managed to bring me an opportunity instead of another headache.
There aren't enough men in this business who know the difference.
The rest of the meeting takes another twenty minutes. We go through schedules, budgets, staffing issues, along with a dispute with a subcontractor at one site, a permitting delay at another. Nothing serious, nothing unexpected, it’s exactly how I like it.
"The subcontractor?" I ask, glancing at Enzo.
"Handled."
"How?"
"He won't be working for us again."
I smile. Excellent. Problem solved.
I turn to Caruso. "The supplier?”
"I'll have confirmation before close of business."
"You'd better."
His mouth twitches. "I will."
