Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the FDR Drive
The rain outside the tinted windows of the private medical suite beat a steady, frantic tattoo against the reinforced glass, but inside, the air smelled of sterile antiseptic, clean cotton, and the sharp bite of panic. Vincent Rossi sat in a leather armchair beside the medical bed, his hands clasped tightly together, his eyes fixed on the pale, motionless face of the woman resting beneath the white sheets. Seven months ago, the world had ended for Vincent. He remembered the blinding flash of sirens along the FDR Drive, the twisted, charred skeleton of the silver sedan, and the grim-faced police captain who handed him a melted silver bracelet. They had told him there was nothing left of Elena after the fuel tank ignited—that dental records were all the coroner could use to confirm the tragedy. Vincent had accepted the nightmare because he had no choice. He had buried an empty casket, stood in the freezing rain in a black wool coat, and let the grief harden into a cold, merciless armor. He had declared war on the Vitale family, burning their warehouses and hunting their soldiers because he believed Carmine Vitale’s men had chased her off the road. But looking at her now—breathing, bruised, and carrying his child—the entire foundation of his vengeance shifted into something far darker and more complex. If Elena had been alive all this time, why had she hidden? Who had faked her death? The door to the medical suite clicked open quietly, and Dr. Salvatore, Vincent’s trusted underground physician, stepped inside carrying a metal clipboard. He closed the door softly behind him, walking over to check the intravenous drip connected to Elena’s arm. “How is she, doctor?” Vincent asked, his voice low, raspy, and stripped of its usual commanding authority. Dr. Salvatore sighed, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. “She’s exhausted, Vincent. Severe malnourishment, bruised ribs, and the physical trauma of living on the streets while seven months pregnant. It’s a miracle she and the baby survived tonight. Another hour in that alley, and we would have lost them both.” Vincent closed his eyes, a sharp pang of guilt twisting his gut. He stood up slowly, walking over to the bed to look down at her swollen belly. “The baby?” “Heartbeat is strong and steady,” the doctor assured him gently. “A fighter, just like her mother. But when she wakes up, she’s going to need absolute calm. She’s terrified of something, Vincent. She was mumbling about someone coming for her before she passed out.” Vincent’s jaw tightened, a dangerous light igniting in his gray eyes. “Nobody is coming for her. Anyone who tries has to get through me first.”
