Chapter 2 - The Ghost of St. Mary's Cemetery
The rain had cleared by dawn, leaving the cobblestones of Lexington slick and reflecting the bruised purple skies of an October morning.
Inside the penthouse, Luna sat at the massive oak dining table, a plate of fresh scrambled eggs and warm pastries untouched in front of her. She was staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the skyline, her fingers tracing the edge of her teacup.
Footsteps approached, and Sylvio entered the room. He had already changed into a fresh charcoal suit, his silver-flecked hair neatly combed, looking every bit the untouchable patriarch. But there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn't been there the night before.
He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down.
“You aren't eating,” Sylvio observed, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Luna looked down at her plate. “I’m not very hungry. When you live on the streets, your stomach gets used to being empty. When there’s food, sometimes you forget how to take it.”
Sylvio’s jaw tightened. He signaled to a maid standing near the kitchen entrance. “Pack a proper box of breakfast for her room. And get a doctor up here by noon to check her lungs. The dampness got into her chest last night.”
“I don't need a doctor,” Luna protested softly, though her voice lacked any real bite. “I’m tough.”
“I know you’re tough,” Sylvio said, pouring himself a cup of black coffee. “If you weren't, you wouldn't have stood in the middle of Romano’s and screamed at a room full of armed killers. But in this house, you don't have to be tough every second of the day. You are allowed to just be a child.”
Luna looked up, her dark eyes searching his face. “Why are you doing this? Everyone on the street says Sylvio Romano has a heart made of cold iron.”
“People on the street talk too much,” Sylvio replied, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “They see the suits, the guns, the blood. They don't see the foundation beneath it. My mother died when I was your age, Luna. In a cold room with no heat and no doctors. I swore no one would ever starve in my shadow. Especially not the person who saved my life.”
A faint, hesitant smile touched the corner of Luna’s lips.
Before she could answer, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open, and Marcus—one of Sylvio’s most trusted field commanders—strode in, holding a thick manila folder.
“Boss,” Marcus said, nodding respectfully toward Luna before turning to Sylvio. “We hit Dominic Vance’s apartment an hour ago. He’s gone. Flown the coop. But we found his personal ledger and a burner phone connecting his calls directly to a mausoleum in St. Mary’s Cemetery.”
Sylvio set his coffee cup down with a sharp clack. “St. Mary’s. Where Tony was supposedly buried.”
“The very same,” Marcus said, laying a series of printed surveillance photographs on the table. “We pulled cemetery records from fifteen years ago. The coroner who signed Tony’s death certificate retired three days after the funeral and bought a vineyard in Tuscany. The plot registered in Tony’s name... wasn't filled with a body. It was filled with lead-lined crates of smuggled contraband.”
Sylvio stood up, his face hardening into a terrifying mask of controlled fury. “He used his own funeral as a shipping container. Brilliant. Cold, calculated, and arrogant.”
“What do you want us to do, Boss?” Marcus asked. “Do we tear the cemetery apart?”
“No,” Sylvio said, buttoning his suit jacket. “We don't tear it apart. We pay a visit to my old friend. Bring Vincent and four cars. And Marcus?”
“Sir?”
“Make sure the perimeter is locked down tighter than a federal vault. If Tony tries to run this time, I want him caught before he reaches the county line.”
Luna stood up from her chair, her small hands clenching into fists. “Can I come?”
Sylvio looked down at her, shaking his head immediately. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
“I know the streets,” Luna insisted, her voice ringing with stubborn courage. “I know every alley, every storm drain, every place someone can hide behind St. Mary’s. If he’s there, he won't use the front gates. He’ll use the old drainage tunnels that run beneath the south wall. I saw men carrying crates down there a week ago when I was looking for shelter.”
Sylvio stared at her. For a moment, he saw not a street orphan, but a tactical asset far more valuable than any man on his payroll.
He let out a slow breath, realizing she was right.
May you like
“Alright,” Sylvio said quietly. “You ride in my car. But you stay where I can see you every single second. Understood?”
Luna nodded fiercely. “Understood.”
