Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Vincenzo
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The Rossi estate was a monument to old blood and dark money. Vaulted ceilings, imported Renaissance art, and marble floors that echoed with every step. Isadora was led into a massive, fire-lit study that smelled of expensive cigars and old parchment.
Gio stripped off his ruined suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a leather sofa. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, revealing the intricate black tattoos snaking up his forearms—marks of the Neapolitan underworld.
"Speak," Gio commanded, pouring two glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. He did not offer her one.
Isadora stood by the roaring fireplace, shivering as the damp chill of the rain clung to her clothes.
"Your father kept two sets of books," Isadora began, wrapping her arms around herself. "One for the commission, which you inherited. And the black book. The one that tracked the betrayals. The skims. The money that your own capos were stealing from the family."
"My men are loyal," Gio snapped, his eyes flashing with violent denial.
"Your men are greedy," Isadora corrected, taking a step toward him. "Six months before he died, Vincenzo realized millions were bleeding from the shipping routes. He asked me to trace the routing numbers. I followed the money through three shell companies in Switzerland. It all circled back to a single account in Naples."
Gio drank his liquor in one fluid motion, setting the glass down with a sharp crack against the mahogany desk.
"Whose account?"
"I don't know the name," Isadora admitted, frustration bleeding into her tone. "It was encrypted. But your father figured it out. The night he died, he called me from his private line. He sounded terrified, Giovanni. Vincenzo Rossi, the man who feared nothing, was gasping for air. He told me he had been poisoned. He told me the traitor was eating at his table."
Gio went completely still. The silence in the study was absolute, heavy with the weight of a son realizing his father’s ghost had not been laid to rest.
"If this is a lie to extort me," Gio whispered, stalking toward her until he was mere inches away, "I will peel the skin from your bones."
"If I wanted to extort you, I would have sold the black book to the rival families," Isadora said, her voice dropping into a fierce, breathless whisper. She didn't shrink away from his towering presence. "But I didn't. I hid it. Because your father saved my life, and I owe him his vengeance."
Gio stared down at her, his icy facade cracking just a fraction to reveal the tormented man beneath.
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"Where is the book?" he demanded.
"Safe," Isadora replied, a faint, defiant smile touching her lips. "And until I am sure you aren't the one who ordered his death, you aren't getting it."
