Page 1 of Indigo Deception
1
Prologue
ANGELO
The numbers dance on my tablet screen as I swirl eighteen-year-old whiskey in a crystal tumbler.
From my private office overlooking Manhattan’s glittering skyline, I watch another eight-million dollars flow through our Singapore shell corporation, transforming dirty money into clean, legitimate profits.
Beautiful.
My phone buzzes. Veronica is calling. Again.
“Your brother’s looking for you,” she says before I can speak. “The gala starts in an hour.”
I glance at my Patek Philippe watch–a gift from my father for my twenty-ninth birthday last year. “I’m making money. Isn’t that what matters?”
“Angelo.” Her tone carries a maternal warning I’ve known since my Wharton days. “You’re the face of Bellanti Holdings’ legitimate operations. Your absence will be noticed.”
She’s right, of course. That’s why she’s been my mentor for the past decade.
“Fine.” I close the program, watching the last transaction complete. “Tell Matteo I’ll be there.”
I end the call and lean back in my chair, letting out a long breath. These charity galas–they’re all part of the game. The perfect cover for what we really do. While New York’s elite write checks for children’s hospitals and art museums, I orchestrate the laundering of millions through our global network of businesses.
The party’s in full swing by the time I arrive at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Camera flashes blind me as I step out of my Rolls Royce. I flash my signature smile–the one that’s graced countless society pages and business magazines.
Angelo Bellanti: Financial prodigy. Philanthropist. Playboy.
If they only knew.
“Mr. Bellanti!” A reporter shoves a microphone in my face. “Your recent acquisition of Pacific Rim Holdings has raised some eyebrows. Any comment on the SEC’s interest in the deal?”
My smile doesn’t falter. “Bellanti International Holdings believes in expanding its legitimate business interests in Asia. We welcome any regulatory oversight.”
More questions follow, but my security team clears a path. Inside, the Met’s Great Hall sparkles with wealth and power. Politicians, judges, business titans–all of them here to see and be seen. Many are on our payroll, though they’d never admit it.
I make my way through the crowd, stopping to charm potential investors and flirt with socialites. It’s all part of the façade. The charming youngest son who transformed his family’s business into a legitimate empire. They love the story–the mafia prince who chose Wall Street over street crime.
My brother Matteo appears at my elbow, his smile tight. “We have a problem.”
“When don’t we?”
“The Kovacs are making moves in Hong Kong.”
I take a sip of champagne, maintaining my serene smile as a board member’s wife passes by. “Our holdings there are secure.”
“They’ve been asking questions about our banking relationships.”
Now that gets my attention. The Kovacs family has been trying to muscle in on our Asian operations for months. But our banking network–that’s the heart of everything. Without it, the entire system of moving money collapses.
“I’ll handle it,” I tell him. And I will. Numbers are my territory. Creating strategies is his. That’s how he got to be the Don.
“Good.” He claps my shoulder, disappearing into the crowd.
My phone vibrates again. This time it’s a text from Veronica: “Urgent. Call me about the Singapore audit.”
A waiter passes with fresh champagne. I grab a glass, buying time to think. Singapore is our newest laundering route. If there’s a problem there…
