Chapter 7 - THE ROOFTOPS OF MANHATTANThe wind on the helipad was ferocious, howling like a wounded animal between the towering skyscrapers of Midtown Manhattan.
As I burst through the heavy metal rooftop door, I saw Alessandro already locked in a deadly standoff. Standing twenty paces away near the edge of the concrete platform was a tall, athletic figure in a tactical stealth suit, a sleek matte-black helicopter idling with its rotors spinning a deafening tempest of wind.
In the figure's arms, Emma was finally crying out, her terrified little voice piercing through the roar of the engines.
"Mommy! Help me!"
"Put her down," Alessandro said, his voice entirely devoid of human emotion, flat and lethal. He held his pistol leveled with absolute, terrifying precision directly at the intruder's forehead. "You take one step toward that cabin, and your brains will paint the landing pad."
The figure in the tactical suit slowly turned around. The tinted carbon-fiber helmet retracted with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing a face I hadn't seen in fifteen years.
My breath caught in my throat. My knees nearly buckled beneath me.
It wasn't a rival syndicate assassin. It wasn't one of Dominic’s loyalists.
It was Victor Vance.
My father.
"Hello, my little ghost," Victor said, a grim, weathered smile touching the corners of his scarred lips. He held Emma securely against his chest with one hand while holding a detonator switch in the other. "Did you really think I left all those multi-million-dollar accounts abandoned? And more importantly... did you really think I'd let my only granddaughter grow up under the roof of the man who tried to put a bullet in my spine?"
Alessandro’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger of his pistol. "Victor Vance. The ghost who wouldn't stay buried."
"Put the gun down, Alessandro," my father warned, his thumb resting dangerously close to the red button on the remote switch. "One click, and the structural charges I planted in the foundation of this entire skyscraper go off. We all go down together—you, me, my daughter, and your precious little heir."
I stepped out from the shadows of the stairwell, trembling from the cold and the sheer shock of seeing the man I had mourned for a decade and a half standing right in front of me.
"Dad..." I whispered, my voice breaking over the roar of the helicopter blades. "Why? Why are you doing this?"
Victor looked at me, his eyes softening just a fraction beneath the harsh overhead floodlights. "Because, Elena, men like Alessandro Moretti don't change. They inherit empires built on blood, and they feed their children to the wolves. I came back to take my family out of this hellhole once and for all."
Alessandro didn't lower his weapon. Instead, a chilling, razor-sharp smirk touched his lips.
"You think you're the only one who plans ahead, Victor?" Alessandro asked softly.
Before my father could react, the heavy steel doors behind us slammed open. Dozens of tactical operatives swarmed the roof, their red laser sights locking simultaneously onto Victor Vance from every possible angle.
Simultaneously, the idling helicopter's engine sputtered, coughed, and died with a sharp mechanical whine. The digital dashboard screens inside the cockpit flickered black.
"Jamming protocol active," Alessandro’s chief tech officer called out over the comms headset. "Remote detonator signal successfully blocked, boss."
Victor’s face drained of color. He looked down at the dead remote in his hand, then back at Alessandro, realizing too late that walking into a Moretti stronghold—even a high-security penthouse roof—was walking directly into a well-laid trap.
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"You knew I was coming," Victor breathed, his grip on Emma loosening slightly.
"I’ve known you were tracking my communications network for weeks," Alessandro replied smoothly, stepping forward with slow, deliberate strides. "A ghost doesn't stay hidden forever, Victor. Especially not when he's trying to steal my daughter."
