Chapter 11 - Ghosts from Brooklyn
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By the fourth morning, I was moved out of the trauma wing into a high-security private suite on the top floor of the hospital. Two of Vincent’s men stood guard outside the double doors, while a private security team monitored the elevators.
I was sitting up in bed, finishing a cup of broth, when the door opened. Vincent walked in, followed by an older man I had never seen before.
The stranger was in his late fifties, dressed in an impeccably tailored navy suit. He had silver hair swept neatly back, sharp grey eyes, and carried a thick leather briefcase under his arm. Despite his polished appearance, he moved with a quiet, dangerous authority that matched my father's.
“Lena,” Vincent said, stepping aside. “This is Paul Romano. He’s been my senior advisor and closest friend for thirty-five years.”
Paul set his briefcase on the sofa, stepped toward my bed, and placed one hand over his chest, bowing his head slightly.
“It is an honor to finally meet you, Ms. Moretti,” Paul said, his voice deep and warm with a thick Brooklyn accent. “I’ve watched over your progress from afar for a very long time.”
I looked between Paul and my father, confusion rising. “Watched over me? How?”
Paul smiled gently, reaching into his inner suit pocket. “Your mother, Sofia, was a very smart woman. When she left New York, she knew your father’s enemies would never stop looking for a weakness. So she made a deal with me.”
He pulled out a small, faded velvet jewelry box and handed it to me.
My fingers trembled as I opened the rusted latch. Inside lay a delicate gold necklace with a carved rose pendant.
My breath hitched. “This was my mother’s... she wore it in every photograph I have of her when she was young.”
“She gave it to me the night she left Brooklyn,” Paul explained softly. “She told me to hold onto it until the day you were safe, free from any man’s control, and ready to take what belongs to you.”
I looked up at Paul, my eyes narrowing slightly. “What belongs to me?”
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Paul looked at Vincent, who gave a sharp, solemn nod.
“Your husband didn't marry you by accident, Lena,” Paul revealed, his voice dropping into a lethal tone. “Ethan Hayes knew exactly who your father was before he ever bumped into you in that grocery store five years ago.”
