Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the Syndicate
The private laboratory beneath the Benadetti estate was a sterile sanctuary of steel and glass, accessible only by a hidden elevator behind Marco’s study. Within forty-five minutes of the incident, Dr. Paul Chen—the syndicate’s chief medical technician—had run the soup sample through a high-performance liquid chromatograph.
Marco stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the digital readout on the monitor. Beside him, his second-in-command, a towering enforcer named Cassian, kept his hand rested on the hilt of his weapon, his expression dark with rage.
"It’s an advanced, organ-targeted synthetic compound, Boss," Dr. Chen explained, pointing a latex-gloved finger at the spiked graph on the screen. "It doesn't kill immediately. It mimics an autoimmune disorder, causing localized inflammation in the digestive tract, chronic fatigue, and gradual neurological decline. Over six months, it would look like a natural, tragic childhood illness. Standard toxicology panels wouldn't catch it unless they knew the exact molecular weight to look for."
Cassian spat on the concrete floor. "That cold-hearted snake. She’s been feeding this to a baby for half a year?"
"Where is she?" Marco asked, his voice chillingly devoid of emotion.
"Locked in the lower wine cellar under two-man guard," Cassian replied. "She hasn't said a word since we stripped her of her phone and jewelry. But we found three burn phones hidden inside her dressing room vanity. The last outgoing call was made twenty minutes before Maria screamed."
"Trace it," Marco ordered.
"We already did," Cassian said, leaning closer, his jaw tight. "The signal bounced off a commercial satellite and landed on a private landline in Chicago. The account holder has been deceased for twelve years... under the name Julian Vance."
The air in the subterranean laboratory felt suddenly thin.
Fifteen years ago, before Marco established absolute rule over the coast, the Benadetti family had been locked in a bloody civil war with the Vance Syndicate. Julian Vance had been Marco’s closest rival—a brilliant, ruthless strategist who shared a dark history with Marco’s late first wife, Elena. When the war reached its bloody climax, Marco had tracked Julian to a high-voltage dam along the state line. They had fought in the dark, and Marco had shot Julian twice in the chest before watching him plunge eighty feet into the roaring, icy sluice gates.
Julian's body was never recovered, but the police—and the underworld—had declared him dead.
"He couldn't have survived that fall," Marco muttered, staring at his own reflection in the dark monitor screen. "Two bullets to the lungs, a drop into a turbine flow... no man survives that."
"A ghost doesn't buy synthetic poison on the black market, Boss," Cassian noted grimly. "Someone with Julian's precise bank codes paid three million dollars to a laboratory in Zurich four months ago. And Isabella... her real maiden name isn't Moreau. We ran her prints through the old Interpol registry. She’s Julian’s younger sister."
May you like
Marco closed his eyes as the horrible truth snapped into place like a steel trap. Isabella hadn't married him for his fortune, his status, or his protection. She had been inserted into his life three years ago as a precision weapon, designed to destroy him from the inside out by targeting the only thing in the universe he cared more about than his empire: his daughter.
"Get the car ready," Marco said, opening his eyes, which now burned with a terrifying, ancient fire. "I’m going down to the cellar."
