Chapter 2 - The Ghost from the Grave

The wrought-iron gates of the villa groaned heavily as three black, armored SUVs tore through the entrance, their tires kicking up clouds of white gravel. The false driver, still standing by the rigged sedan, immediately reached inside his jacket.

He never even cleared his holster.

Two suppressed shots coughed through the morning air. The false driver’s knees buckled, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed onto the pristine driveway, a dark pool of crimson spreading beneath him.

Isabella screamed. It was a flawless, theatrical scream—the kind of scream a devoted, terrified wife would produce. She dropped to her knees, clutching her face, playing her part to perfection.

Vittorio didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on the first man stepping out of the lead SUV.

The man wore a sharp, tailored navy suit. In his left hand, he held a silver-tipped cane, leaning heavily on it. His face was scarred on the left side, a permanent reminder of a fire that should have claimed his life two years ago.

"Hello, little brother," the man said. His voice was like grinding stones.

Vittorio felt the breath leave his lungs. "Alessio."

His brother had been blown to pieces on a yacht off the Amalfi coast. Vittorio had buried an empty casket. He had wept for a week. Yet here Alessio stood, very much alive, his cold eyes scanning the villa’s grounds.

"You always were too trusting with beautiful women," Alessio murmured, limping forward. He glanced at Isabella, who had frozen mid-scream, her face draining of color. "And you, Isabella. You haven't aged a day since you tried to have me killed."

Vittorio’s mind raced, piecing the shattered puzzle together. "She ordered the hit on your boat?"

"She was working with the Palermo families even back then," Alessio explained calmly, signaling his men to secure the perimeter. "I found out. Before I could bring you the proof, my boat went up in flames. I had to stay dead, Vittorio. If I came back too soon, she would have finished the job—and taken you with me. I had to wait until she made her final move. Today was the day."

Sophia tugged frantically at Vittorio’s sleeve. "Sir! My papa!"

Vittorio looked down at the little girl. Her bravery from minutes ago was fading, replaced by the sheer terror of a seven-year-old child who knew her father was in the hands of monsters.

Vittorio knelt, looking directly into her gray eyes. "I will bring him back. On my life, Sophia, I will bring him back."

He stood up and turned to Marco, the traitorous guard who had just been dragged out of the villa by Alessio’s men, bloodied and trembling. Vittorio walked over to him. He didn’t yell. He didn’t draw a weapon. He just leaned in close.

"Where is the gardener?" Vittorio whispered.

Marco choked, spitting blood. "The old slaughterhouse. North road. But it’s a trap, boss. They have twenty men waiting for you."

Vittorio turned to Alessio. "Take the false driver’s body. Dress him in my spare suit. Put my watch on his wrist. Put him in the back of that sedan and drive it off the Amalfi cliffs. Let the bomb go off. Let the world think I am dead."