Chapter 2 - The Wrath of the GhostThe air in Dominic Russo’s private office dropped to a lethal, absolute zero. The heavy mahogany doors remained shut, yet every high-ranking capo and adviser standing in the room felt as though the oxygen had been violently sucked from the space.
On the center of the executive desk rested a transparent evidence bag. Inside, preserved with forensic precision, was a fragment of charred, water-damaged paper mixed with the fine black residue of an incinerated photograph.
Dominic didn't blink. His wide, bloodshot gray eyes were fixed on the ash. For three months, he had torn the underworld apart searching for Megan Hayes. He had traced ghost flights, raided safehouses, bought out shell corporations, and broken the jaws of informants who whispered lies about her whereabouts. He had believed she was hiding in fear of the Moretti alliance. He had believed she was safe, licking her wounds in some quiet Midwestern town, hating him for a betrayal she didn't understand.
He had never imagined she was holding a secret so massive, so terrifying, that she would rather burn it to cinders than let him find out.
Six weeks and four days.
The medical record flashed on the private tablet screen beside the ashes. The date of the clinic visit matched the exact afternoon she had visited his headquarters—the very afternoon he had been forced to stand before Isabella Moretti and recite lines scripted by two rival bloodlines to keep the Morettis from discovering his soft spot.
“Boss,” his head of security, Marcus, murmured, his voice trembling for the first time in his career. “The recovery team found this in the grease trap beneath the apartment building in Chicago. The fire was small—set in a bathroom sink. It only consumed the print. But the digital record from the hospital server... we recovered it an hour ago.”
Dominic stood up so fast his heavy leather chair crashed backward against the wall.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
“She thought I threw her away,” Dominic whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing vibration that made the seasoned soldiers flinch. “She stood outside my office. She heard the words. She thought I was marrying Isabella... and she thought my enemies would use her as a target.”
He slammed his fist against the desk, cracking the polished wood.
“She burned the ultrasound,” he roared, the raw fury tearing from his throat. “She destroyed the only proof of my child because she thought I was a monster who wouldn't care!”
“Boss, the Moretti wedding is scheduled for next week,” Marcus said cautiously, stepping back. “If Don Moretti finds out about the child—if he finds out Megan is carrying your blood—they will hunt her down across the globe to use her as leverage against our syndicate.”
Dominic’s head snapped up. His eyes were no longer human; they burned with the terrifying, unbridled wrath of a king whose crown had just been set on fire.
“Moretti won't live to see next week,” Dominic snarled, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. “Mobilize every man we have. Track every credit card transaction, every bus ticket, every ATM withdrawal under her alias. If she crossed state lines, find out where. I want every inch of this country searched. If anyone touches a hair on her head—or my child—I will burn the Moretti empire down to its foundation and salt the earth where it stood.”
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He reached down, his trembling fingers picking up the small evidence bag containing the ashes of his unborn child. He clutched it against his chest like a dying man holding a rosary.
“Megan,” he whispered into the empty, echoing room, a tear finally breaking free from his ironclad composure. “Hold on. I’m coming for you.”
