CHAPTER 4 — The Letter That Named the Next Target
The first helicopter circled overhead just as dawn painted the skyline gray.
Police cruisers sealed every street within six blocks.
Firefighters battled the inferno consuming the Moretti warehouses while television crews fought for a glimpse of the empire collapsing in real time.
Elena stood motionless, the bloodstained envelope clutched tightly against her chest.
Inside were names.
Hundreds of names.
Judges.
Police officers.
Business executives.
Politicians.
And one final page, folded separately.
Across the top, written in Salvatore Moretti's unmistakable handwriting, were eight chilling words.
"Only one person alive knows the complete truth."
Beneath it...
Elena's name.
She looked at Vincent.
"What does this mean?"
His face drained of color.
"It means this wasn't his confession."
"It was his warning."
Before she could ask another question, a deafening explosion ripped through the burning warehouse district.
A fuel depot erupted into flames, sending black smoke hundreds of feet into the air.
Everyone looked toward the fire.
Everyone except Vincent.
His eyes remained fixed on a black motorcycle weaving through the police barricades.
The rider wore no insignia.
No license plate.
Only a matte-black helmet.
Vincent whispered two words.
"Ghost Division."
Elena frowned.
"I thought your father ran everything."
"He did."
"But there was one group even he feared."
The motorcycle slowed beside them.
Without stopping, the rider tossed a small flash drive onto the pavement.
Then disappeared between two police cruisers before anyone could react.
Vincent picked it up.
His expression changed instantly.
"No..."
"What?"
"I destroyed these files years ago."
Two hours later, inside a federal safe house, FBI agents copied the drive.
Everyone expected financial records.
Instead...
The screen displayed hidden surveillance footage.
A date appeared.
May 18... Twenty-One Years Earlier.
The grainy video showed a warehouse.
Daniel Torres.
Salvatore Moretti.
And a third man standing in the shadows.
The camera zoomed.
Vincent froze.
"I know him."
The room fell silent.
The third man wasn't dead.
He wasn't missing.
He was Vincent's godfather.
Luca Bellini.
The man everyone believed had been murdered two decades ago.
But the timestamp at the bottom told another story.
He had staged his own death.
And if this recording existed...
He was still alive.
That night, Elena couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she heard gunfire.
Saw Salvatore fall.
Felt the weight of the envelope in her hands.
Around 2:47 a.m...
Exactly twenty-four hours after leaving the diner...
Someone knocked softly on her bedroom door.
Vincent stood outside.
"I need to tell you something."
"What?"
He looked away.
"I lied yesterday."
Her stomach tightened.
"My father didn't order every murder."
"Then who did?"
May you like
Vincent answered quietly.
"The man who taught him."
