Chapter 4 - The Ghost of the Docks
The man wore a tailored trench coat soaked with rain, his silver-streaked hair slicked back, and a jagged scar running from his left jawline down into his collar.
Don Salvatore Romano.
Isabella froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the man she believed was safely orchestrating this coup from his Manhattan penthouse.
"Father?" Isabella whispered, trembling. "What... what are you doing here? You said you were staying at the compound!"
Salvatore didn't look at his daughter. His dark, piercing eyes were locked entirely on Aleandro Moretti. He walked past the bleeding, groaning form of Marcus and stopped ten feet from Aleandro, neither man lowering his weapon.
"You always were too trusting of pretty faces, boy," Salvatore said, his voice gravelly and thick with decades of smoke and violence.
Aleandro kept his pistol steady, aiming it straight at Salvatore's chest. "You faked your death three years ago to draw me out of the international shipping lanes. And you used your own daughter as a sleeping agent inside my estate. I should put a bullet through your skull right now."
"Try it," Salvatore smiled grimly, "and you'll never find out who really ordered the hit on your father twenty-two years ago."
The words hit Aleandro like a physical blow. The gun in his hand wavered for a fraction of a second.
"What did you say?" Aleandro snarled.
"You always blamed my family for the car bomb that killed your father," Salvatore said, stepping closer despite the muzzle pointed at him. "You spent twenty years building an empire just to crush mine out of vengeance. But your father wasn't killed by a Romano, Aleandro. He was killed by the man who is currently sitting in your executive chair downtown, counting your money while waiting for the coast-to-coast transfer to clear."
Isabella staggered backward, her face draining of all color. "No... that's a lie. Father, you told me the Morettis destroyed our family! You said Aleandro's father killed my mother!"
"I lied to keep you sharp, Isabella," Salvatore snapped, his voice cutting like a razor. "This world doesn't run on love or family loyalty. It runs on leverage. And right now, our leverage is the man who betrayed both of us."
Aleandro’s mind raced. If Salvatore wasn't the enemy, and Isabella was just a pawn manipulated by a lifetime of fabricated vengeance, then who had the master key to the Moretti empire?
"Marcus," Aleandro whispered, realizing the horrifying truth too late.
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From the floor behind them, Marcus—bleeding heavily from the shoulder—suddenly let out a manic laugh. He rolled over, clutching a dead man's trigger switch in his left hand.
"Too late, you arrogant bastards," Marcus coughed, blood bubbling on his lips. "The main server at the waterfront is already formatting. In two minutes, every offshore account, every hidden ledger, and every dirty cop on our payroll goes public to the FBI and Interpol. We all burn together."
