Part 2 — THE GHOST IN THE ROOM

I stared at the man sitting in the hospital chair. Despite the extensive burn scars twisting the left side of his face, the eyes were the same. The arrogant, cold gaze of Dominic Moretti.

“Where is my wife?” I demanded, taking a step forward.

Dominic didn't flinch. He calmly tapped his cigarette against the edge of a stainless-steel medical tray. “Your wife? That’s a loose term, isn't it, Vincent? Considering she’s carrying a Romano baby, and raising my daughter.”

“Where is she, Dominic!” I yelled, grabbing him by the lapels of his expensive suit and hauling him to his feet.

He laughed, a dry, raspy sound that rattled in his chest. He didn't fight back. He just stared at me.

“She’s downstairs, Vincent. Being escorted to a secure location by my men. Along with the new baby.”

I shoved him backward. “Why are you doing this? I mourned you! I took care of this family because I thought you were dead!”

“You took what was mine!” Dominic spat, the calm facade breaking. He pointed a scarred finger at me. “Dad always liked you best. You were the businessman. I was the muscle. When he died, he was going to split the territory. I couldn't let that happen. But before I could take you out, that fire happened.”

“I didn't start that fire, Dominic,” I said quietly, the truth settling heavily in the room. “I tried to save you.”

“I know you didn't start it,” Dominic sneered. “Anthony Romano did. He tried to wipe me out so he could take over the North Side. I barely escaped. But when I realized everyone thought I was dead… I saw the perfect opportunity.”

He began pacing the small hospital room. “I let you build the empire, Vincent. I let you do the hard work. Expanding the casinos, cleaning up the unions. While you worked in the light, I worked in the dark. I found Rebecca. I used her to plant my daughter in your house, ensuring that the heir to the Moretti family would always be my blood.”

“Lily isn't a pawn,” I said, my voice trembling with rage. “She’s a little girl who loves piano and draws pictures of her family. She’s my daughter in every way that matters.”

“She’s a Moretti,” Dominic corrected sharply. “And tonight, she comes home to her real father.”

“No,” I said, stepping between him and the door. “You’re not taking her.”

Dominic reached into his pocket and pulled out the pink envelope Lily had given me earlier that night. My heart plummeted. He had been to my house before coming here.

He opened the envelope and pulled out Lily’s drawing. He looked at the question mark she had drawn next to me.

“She asked if you’d remember to come get her, Vincent,” Dominic mocked, reading the words scribbled on the paper. “But you didn't. You chose a mistress and another man’s son over your own family. You broke her heart long before I ever took her.”

He crumpled the drawing and tossed it on the floor.

“You have a choice, Vincent,” Dominic said, pulling a heavy silver revolver from his waistband and leveling it at my chest. “You can walk away right now. Leave Philadelphia. Leave the empire. And I will let Margaret and the new baby live their lives quietly in the suburbs. But Lily stays with me.”

“And if I don't?”

Dominic cocked the hammer. “Then I kill you right here, just like you allegedly killed me eight years ago. And then I kill Margaret for sleeping with my enemy.”

I looked at the crumpled drawing on the floor. I thought of Lily, waiting on the couch in a stranger's house. I thought of Margaret, desperate and terrified, trying to protect a child that wasn't even hers. I had failed them both. I had been blind, arrogant, and selfish.

But I wouldn't fail them tonight.

“Shoot me, Dominic,” I said, stepping directly into the barrel of the gun.

Dominic frowned, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“Shoot me,” I repeated, my voice steady. “Because if you don't, I am going to walk out of this room, and I am going to tear down every single piece of the empire I built. I will burn the casinos. I will drain the accounts. I will give it all away. There will be no Moretti family for you to rule.”

Dominic hesitated, the greed in his eyes conflicting with his hatred.

In that split second of hesitation, I didn't wait.

I didn't reach for my gun. I reached for the fire alarm pull-station on the wall beside the door.

I yanked it down.

Sirens immediately blared throughout the hospital. Strobe lights flashed, and the overhead sprinklers burst to life, drenching the room in freezing water.

Dominic cursed, wiping the water from his scarred face.

I lunged forward, tackling him into the hallway just as a team of nurses and security guards came running toward us. Dominic hit the linoleum hard, the gun sliding out of his hand.

Knowing he couldn't shoot me in front of a dozen witnesses, Dominic scrambled to his feet, shooting me a look of pure, unadulterated venom.

“This isn't over, Vincent,” he spat, turning and disappearing down the emergency stairwell.

I didn't chase him. I grabbed a security guard by the shoulder.

“My wife,” I yelled over the alarm. “Margaret Moretti. She was taken downstairs. Where does the service elevator lead?”

“The underground parking garage!” the guard yelled back.

I sprinted toward the elevators, ignoring the water soaking my suit. I had to get to Margaret before Dominic’s men drove her away.

I burst through the double doors of the basement garage, the concrete walls echoing with the blaring alarms.

A black van was idling near the exit. Two men were dragging a struggling Margaret toward the sliding door.

“Margaret!” I screamed, pulling my spare piece from my ankle holster.

She turned, her eyes wide with terror.

But before I could raise my weapon, the screech of tires echoed through the garage. A silver sedan slammed into the side of the black van, pinning the passenger door shut.

The driver's door of the sedan opened, and a woman stepped out, holding a shotgun.