Chapter 4 - The Docks of Palermo
The salt wind of the Mediterranean hit Sadie the moment she stepped off the plane into the warm Sicilian afternoon air.
Two black armored SUVs were waiting on the tarmac. A burly man with a silver mustache and a deep scar along his temple stepped forward, embracing Dominic with a sharp, formal Italian greeting.
“This is Bruno,” Dominic told Sadie as they climbed into the back of the lead SUV. “He manages our local security operations in Sicily.”
Bruno glanced at Sadie through the rearview mirror with clear skepticism. “Dominic, why did you bring an American woman to the docks? The union leaders are volatile. The Luchese syndicate has been whispering in their ears since the bonus cuts.”
Dominic looked at Sadie, a faint, unexpected flick of pride in his dark eyes. “She’s our translator and our secret weapon.”
Ten minutes later, the convoy pulled into the massive industrial port of Palermo. Hundreds of towering shipping containers were stacked like giant colored blocks under the Mediterranean sun. But the port was eerily quiet. Cranes sat idle against the blue sky, and dozens of rough-looking dockworkers were gathered near the main union hall, drinking espresso and playing cards.
As Dominic and Sadie stepped out of the vehicle surrounded by four armed guards, a tall man with a thick beard and a faded wool cap stepped out of the union hall. This was Bernardo—the head of the local port workers.
“Virelli!” Bernardo shouted in Italian, spat on the dusty ground, and gestured angrily at the idle cranes. “You came all this way to give us more empty corporate speeches?”
Dominic stepped forward, his body tense, ready to assert his dominance. But before he could speak, Sadie stepped right past his guards and walked toward the strike leader.
Dominic reached out to grab her arm. “Sadie, stay back!”
“Let me work, Dominic,” she said without turning around.
Sadie stopped three feet in front of Bernardo. She clasped her hands in front of her dress and spoke in the distinct, archaic village dialect of Castellammare del Golfo:
“Saluto, Don Bernardo. A man who cuts the bread of his brother shouldn't be surprised when the knife turns against him.”
Bernardo froze. The dockworkers around him stopped playing cards, their heads snapping toward the American woman in complete shock.
Bernardo stared at her, his eyes wide. “Who taught an American girl the tongue of my grandfather’s valley?”
“Salvatore Greco,” Sadie replied softly in Sicilian. “And my father was Arthur Cole—a man who spent thirty years on the Boston docks keeping the peace between the union and the shipping bosses.”
A murmur swept through the crowd of dockworkers. Bernardo’s harsh posture softened slightly. “Arthur Cole? The Irishman from Pier 4?”
“The same,” Sadie said. “He told me that when men lay down their tools, it isn't because they want to destroy the ship—it’s because the captain forgot who weighs the anchor.”
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Bernardo let out a hearty, booming laugh, clapping his large hands together. “By God! An American boss who sends a woman with a brain instead of a lawyer with a briefcase!”
Behind her, Dominic watched the entire interaction in absolute awe. In three sentences, Sadie had dismantled a weeks-long standoff that had cost his company millions.
