Chapter 13: The Matriarch’s Play
The media descended like vultures. By midnight, every news channel in New York was broadcasting the fall of the reformed mob boss. Noah Moretti Arrested in Massive Federal Narcotics Bust.
Bellini Bespoke was closed. The windows were boarded up. The apprentices were sent home with a month’s paid leave.
But inside the back office, the tailor shop had been transformed into a war room.
Lyra sat at the head of the long oak cutting table. She was no longer wearing her designer jumpsuits. She wore a sharp, unyielding black blazer, her hair pulled back into a severe knot. She looked exactly like the matriarch of a powerful syndicate.
Paulie stood near the boarded-up window, nervously chewing on a toothpick. Owen, the accountant, was frantically typing on a laptop, his face pale with stress.
“The bail hearing is set for Monday,” Owen stammered, adjusting his glasses. “But the judge is in Silas Vane’s pocket. They are going to deny bail. They want Noah transferred to Rikers Island. If he goes to Rikers, Silas’s men inside will kill him before trial.”
“He is not going to Rikers,” Lyra stated, her voice like cracking ice. “Paulie, how did the shipment get into Warehouse 7? Only five people have the digital access codes to bypass the security cameras on that specific dock.”
Paulie looked down, shifting uncomfortably. “Boss... Lyra. I vetted everyone. The dock manager, the shift supervisors... they’re all old-school loyal. None of them would flip for Silas.”
“Someone did,” Lyra countered, standing up and pacing the length of the table. “Silas Vane didn't just guess our security protocols. He bought someone. I need to know who.”
She stopped pacing and looked at her phone. An idea, cold and ruthless, formed in her mind.
“Owen,” Lyra ordered. “Pull up the client ledger for Bellini Bespoke. Cross-reference the names with the federal judges sitting on the arraignment court for the Southern District.”
Owen’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Okay... got it. Judge Robert Sterling. He’s presiding over Noah’s bail hearing.”
“And when was the last time Judge Sterling’s wife was in my shop?”
Owen clicked a few buttons. “Three weeks ago. She ordered a custom gown for the Mayor’s Charity Gala. It’s... wait. It’s this Saturday.”
Lyra looked at the calendar on the wall. Tomorrow.
“Silas Vane is hosting the Mayor’s Charity Gala,” Lyra said, the pieces snapping together. “It’s his grand re-entry into high society. He is using it to parade his power in front of the city’s elite, to show them he took down Noah Moretti.”
“You can’t go near that gala, Lyra,” Paulie warned, stepping forward. “Silas will have half the East Side muscle there in tuxedos. It’s a suicide mission.”
“I’m not going for Silas,” Lyra said, a dangerous, brilliant smile curving her lips. “I’m going for his guests.”
She turned to a locked cabinet in the corner of the room, unlocked it, and pulled out one of the leather-bound ledgers Noah had rescued from the vault.
“My husband spent years trying to bury the past,” Lyra said, running her hand over the cracked leather. “He wanted to protect this city from its own rot. But if they want to play dirty, I will show them exactly how filthy the mud is.”
She looked at Paulie. “Get the black SUV ready. And call Maya. Tell her I need the emerald silk gown tailored to my measurements by tomorrow night.”
May you like
“Lyra,” Owen asked nervously. “What are you going to do?”
“Silas Vane thinks leverage is something you lock in a safe,” Lyra replied, her eyes flashing with a terrifying, absolute resolve. “I am going to wear it to his party.”
