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A seven-year-old girl stopped one of the most feared mafia bosses in Naples from stepping into his own death—and what he saw seconds later destroyed every illusion he had about his wife. He thought betrayal was something he understood, until a child behind a cypress tree proved him wrong. / Chapter 2 / 10

Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Naples

For the next forty-eight hours, Naples burned with rumors. The news of Vittorio Morelli’s sudden, fiery demise spread through the syndicates like wildfire. In the shadows of the Mergellina harbor, Vittorio set up his temporary command center inside an abandoned, rusted shipping warehouse owned by a defunct shell company. The only person he trusted now was Marco, his wartime consigliere who had been semi-retired in Spain. Vittorio had summoned him with a single code phrase: The vineyard is dry.

"She played a flawless game, Vittorio," Marco said, tossing a dossier onto the wooden crate that served as their table. The dim light of a single overhead bulb illuminated Marco’s weathered face. "Isabella didn't just hire an assassin. She didn't just seduce your driver's replacement. She has been funneling money out of your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands for eighteen months. The five families in Sicily? They weren't waiting to negotiate with you. They were waiting for confirmation of your death so they could ratify a new treaty with her."

Vittorio poured himself two fingers of cheap grappa, staring at the amber liquid. "And the man she kissed?"

"Matteo Rossi," Marco replied, his tone grim. "The younger brother of the Rossi clan from Calabria. It wasn't just a betrayal of marriage, Vittorio. It was a hostile takeover by a rival syndicate, orchestrated from inside your own bed."

Vittorio downed the drink, the cheap alcohol burning his throat, grounding him in reality. He closed his eyes, remembering the seven-year-old girl who had saved him. If not for Sophia’s observation of a left-handed driver and a changed license plate, his bones would currently be undergoing forensic identification in a Naples morgue.

"Where are they holding the wake?" Vittorio asked quietly.

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"At the Santa Maria del Carmine," Marco said. "Isabella is playing the grieving widow to perfection. She’s ordered a closed-casket funeral for tomorrow afternoon. The entire commission will be there. They are celebrating your demise under the guise of mourning."

"Good," Vittorio murmured, his eyes snapping open, flashing with a lethal, predatory light. "Let them sing their elegies. I will provide the final verse."

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