Chapter 2 GHOST OF PALERMO

voice trembling but resolute as gunfire continued to echo around them. Her dark eyes were dry, burning with a cold fury that frightened him more than the bullets. "Family is everything. Loyalty is paramount. You will avenge your father and carry his legacy. This is your destiny now." That day, Vincenzo Romano lost not only his father but his innocence. Childhood ended in a hail of bullets and the metallic scent of blood on hot cobblestones. He became a soldier, a weapon, forged in the fires of grief and vengeance.

The ghosts of Palermo became his constant companions, driving him, shaping him into the man he was today-a man who understood that power was the only true protection in this world. In the weeks that followed, his mother had sent him away-to distant relatives in America, far from the blood feud that was consuming Sicily. "You will return when you are ready," she had told him on their tearful parting. "You will return and take back what is yours." And he had. Fifteen years later, after his mother's death from cancer, Vincenzo-now Vince-had returned to Palermo. Over two brutal years, he had methodically eliminated every member of the Bagarella family who had been involved in his father's murder. He had reclaimed his father's territory, rebuilt his connections, and expanded the Romano empire to America, where he now made his home. Back in the present, Vince opened his eyes, the pain still raw, the memory still vivid even after all these years. He understood now why Nonna Rosa clung so fiercely to the old ways, the traditions, the centrality of family. It was all that remained when everything else was stripped away-the only constant in a shifting, treacherous world. "Where to, Don Romano?" the driver asked, his voice respectful, eyes meeting Vince's in the rearview mirror. Vince hesitated, his mind churning. He should be preparing for war, strategizing in the face of Moretti's threat, solidifying his defenses and planning his offensive. That would be the prudent move. That would be what his father would have done. But the image of Bella, her face etched with concern as she'd bandaged his wounds just hours ago, flashed in his mind. He could still feel the gentle pressure of her fingers against his skin, the warmth in her eyes that held no fear of him despite knowing exactly who he was. In that sterile hospital room, she had seen past the armor he wore, past the reputation that made hardened criminals tremble. "Take me to St. Mary's Hospital," he said, surprising even himself with the decision. Marco, who had slid into the passenger seat, turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Boss, we should get back to the compound. We need to prepare-"I know what we need to do," Vince cut him off, his tone brooking no argument. "The hospital first." He needed to see her, to reassure himself that she was safe, that she wasn't just another casualty waiting to happen in his war. He needed to see the angel who had touched his darkness, the woman who made him question everything he thought he knew about his path. As the car sped through the city streets, the neon lights bleeding into streaks against the window, Vince's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a text message from his lieutenant, Tony: "Moretti's men are moving. They're hitting our warehouses on the East Side. Three dead already." Vince's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. The game had begun sooner than expected. Moretti hadn't wasted any time-a direct violation of the old codes that demanded a declaration before the all-out war. But the old ways were dying, replaced by the ruthless efficiency of younger, hungrier men. He stared out the window, watching as they passed through neighborhoods that transformed from glittering high-rises to more modest buildings. He was caught between two worlds now: the world of violence and vengeance that had been his birthright, and the world of hope and healing that Bella represented. He knew, with the cold certainty that had guided his most difficult decisions, that he couldn't have both. No matter how much he might wish otherwise. He would have to choose, and soon. "Call Tony," he ordered his driver. "Tell him to secure the remaining warehouses. Move the shipments from the docks tonight instead of tomorrow. And double the security at all our properties." "Yes, sir," the driver responded, already reaching for his phone. Marco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Boss, if you're going to see the nurse, you should know something." Vince turned to him, instantly alert. "What is it?" "She's been asking questions. About you. About the family. One of our guys at the hospital overheard her talking to another nurse, asking about your history." A cold weight settled in Vince's stomach. "What kind of questions?" "The kind that suggests more than professional concern," Marco replied carefully. "Could be nothing. Could be curiosity. Or..." "Or she could be working for someone else," Vince finished, the thought like acid in his veins. It wouldn't be the first time an enemy had tried to place someone close to him. The Morettis were known for their elaborate schemes. But no. He'd seen her eyes when she'd tended to him. There had been no deception there, no hidden agenda-only compassion and something else, something that had mirrored his unexpected feelings. Or was that exactly what he was supposed to see? The car turned onto the street where St. Mary's Hospital stood, its windows glowing with fluorescent light against the dark sky. As they approached, Vince leaned forward, his instincts suddenly screaming a warning. The entrance to the emergency department was blocked. Not by police cruisers, not by ambulances delivering patients, but by three black SUVs with tinted windows-vehicles identical to those favored by the Moretti family for their operations. "Drive past," Vince ordered sharply. "Don't slow down." As they cruised by, he caught sight of men in dark suits standing near the entrance, their postures too rigid, too alert to be visitors or hospital staff. One of them turned, and Vince recognized the face-Carlo Vittorio, one of Moretti's top enforcers. The Moretti family had made their move. And Bella was right in the middle of it. "Circle the block," Vince instructed his mind racing, calculating. "Find another entrance." If they had hurt her if they had laid a single finger on her because of him... The thought sent a wave of rage crashing through him, a fury he hadn't felt since those blood-soaked days in Palermo when he'd reclaimed his father's legacy. The ghosts of his past were converging with the threats of his present, and caught between them was the one person who had made him believe, if only for a moment, that there might be a future beyond the endless cycle of violence. As the car circled toward the rear of the hospital, Vince checked his weapon, feeling the reassuring weight of it against his palm. The choice he'd been contemplating had been made for him. There would be time for regrets later-if he survived the night. "Call everyone," he told Marco, his voice deadly calm. "We're at war."