Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the PastThe collective click of dozens of firearms being readied reverberated through the grand hall like the rattling of dry bones. The air grew so thick with tension that breathing felt like inhaling shards of glass.
Don Ricci gripped his cane so tightly his knuckles turned purple, while Vivian Romano shrank back against a marble pillar, her previous arrogance entirely replaced by sheer, unadulterated panic. None of them understood what was happening, but they knew one immutable law of the underworld: when Alessandro Moretti’s composure shattered, blood was about to follow.
“I asked a question,” Alessandro repeated, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a terrifying, volcanic fury that seemed to shake the very foundations of the estate. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto me, bypassing my defensive stance as he stepped closer. “Where did the child get that toy?”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I pulled Emma instinctively behind my skirt, shielding her with my body.
“It was... it was her father’s,” I stammered, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “Before he died. It’s the only thing she has left of him.”
Alessandro flinched as if he had been struck by a physical blow. He stared down at the blue rabbit in Emma’s arms, his gaze fixed on that tiny, ominous black symbol—the coiled viper wrapped around a broken dagger.
“His name,” Alessandro demanded, his voice cracking slightly around the edges. “What was her father’s name?”
“Lucas,” I whispered, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as the painful memories rushed back. “Lucas Bennett. He died two years ago in a warehouse fire down by the harbor. They... they told me there was nothing left of him to bury.”
A heavy, breathless silence descended upon the room.
Across the hall, several high-ranking capos exchanged pale, terrified glances. The name Lucas Bennett seemed to strike a chord deep within the dark history of the Moretti empire—a name that was supposed to be buried forever under tons of ash and official police cover-ups.
Alessandro didn't answer me immediately. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath as memories flashed across his mind. Then, his eyes snapped open, blazing with a dangerous, incandescent light. He turned his head toward the gathering of crime bosses, his gaze locking instantly onto a sweating, middle-aged man standing near the edge of the terrace—Marco Moretti, Alessandro’s own cousin and chief of logistics.
“Marco,” Alessandro murmured, his voice deadly calm. “Come here.”
Marco swallowed hard, his face turning the color of skim milk. He tried to force a weak, nervous smile. “Cousin... surely you don't believe—that old mark is just a coincidence—”
“You told me he died in the harbor explosion,” Alessandro interrupted, his voice rising like a tidal wave of pure wrath. “You personally handed me the report. You assured me the traitor who leaked our shipping routes to the federal strike force had been incinerated!”
“I—I thought he was!” Marco stammered, taking a panicked step backward toward the French doors leading to the gardens. “It was chaos! The warehouse blew up—”
“You lied,” Alessandro roared, drawing a heavy, silver-plated Beretta from his shoulder holster with terrifying speed and leveling the barrel straight between Marco’s eyes.
The twelve mafia families erupted into chaotic shouting. Bodyguards drew weapons, but none dared point them at Alessandro; they knew the penalty for treason in the Moretti family, and Marco had just been unmasked.
“Guards!” Alessandro barked, never breaking eye contact with his treacherous cousin. “Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves this property alive until I find out how a dead man’s child ended up scrubbing my floors while the bastard who betrayed my brother walks free!”
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Chaos erupted around us. Men scrambled, shouting orders, while Alessandro lowered his gun slightly and turned back to look at me. His expression was no longer that of a feared mafia boss; it was the look of a man who realized his entire world had been built on a monumental, bloody lie.
“Mrs. Bennett,” Alessandro said, his voice trembling as he knelt back down to Emma’s level. “Your husband didn't die in that fire. And I am going to help you find out who stole your life away.”
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