Chapter 4 - The Ghost's LedgerInside the East Wing's master suite, luxury took on a suffocating dimension. The room was larger than Isabella's entire college apartment, featuring a massive mahogany bed, a roaring fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights.
After a scalding bath that washed away eight months of grime, fear, and exhaustion, and a thorough examination by an elderly, discreet family doctor who provided clean clothes and fresh medical supplies, Isabella sat by the fire, a cup of steaming chamomile tea in her hands.
The door clicked open. Lorenzo Moretti walked in, having shed his suit jacket. He held a thick manila folder in his hand.
"Dr. Rossi says you're malnourished, exhausted, and suffering from mild shock," Moretti said, setting the folder on the coffee table. "He also noted that your left shoulder shows signs of an old, untreated fracture. Care to tell me how you got that?"
Isabella clutched the porcelain cup tighter. "It's none of your business."
"Everything inside these gates is my business," Moretti replied calmly, sitting opposite her. He opened the folder. Inside were printed photographs, police reports, and medical records.
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. Staring back at her from the top page was her own face—clean, smiling, wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck.
Dr. Isabella Romano. Department of Veterinary Medicine, State University. Missing presumed dead.
"You're thorough," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I am careful," Moretti corrected. "When a brilliant veterinary prodigy vanishes off the face of the earth the exact same night Dr. Miguel Ramirez is executed in a clinic parking lot, my intelligence network tends to take notice. The police ruled it a botched robbery. My men knew better. The Sinaloa cartel was cleaning house, and you were the loose end they forgot to tie up."
Isabella stared at the flames dancing in the hearth, hot tears prickling behind her eyelids. "I was just hiding in the supply closet. I saw them shoot him. I saw their faces. If I had stayed... they would have killed me too. I ran, and every single day since then, I've waited for them to find me."
"They won't," Moretti said. His voice wasn't comforting; it was a vow etched in stone.
"You don't understand!" Isabella snapped, finally breaking. "They are monsters! They don't care about your money or your status! They deal in blood and terror!"
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Moretti stood up. He walked slowly toward her, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the rug. He stopped right beside her chair, leaned down, and placed two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up into his fierce, unyielding gaze.
"Little ghost," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly purr that made her skin tingle. "You seem to forget who I am. They deal in blood? Good. Because so do I. And nobody touches what belongs to Lorenzo Moretti."
