“Who?”Salvatore asked.
“Her name’s Lucy.I need to know where she is by tonight.”
He blinked, disbelief spreading across his face.He chewed on his lip, then shook his head with a snort.“Lucy what?You can’t just give me a first name and expect me to find her by tonight.New York’s not a fucking house, Alessandro—it’s a goddamn city full of Lucys.How the fuck am I meant to find her?”
He wasn’t wrong.I knew it the moment I handed him the paper.But logic wasn’t winning this one—something about that woman screamed trouble, and I wasn’t the kind of man who waited around to get fucked over.I needed to know who she was working for, and what the fuck she was doing in my bed.
“Vicenzo called,” I said, dismissing the topic.“Who the fuck told him about Roderick?”
Bruno shifted, scratching the back of his neck.“He came by the estate the other day.”
I snapped my gaze to him.“He what?”
“When he came, he noticed Roderick wasn’t around and started asking questions.”
I stared at him, trying to process that.Vicenzo showing up unannounced wasn’t just odd—it was unheard of.The old man didn’t visit.He summoned.And now, suddenly, he was making rounds like he cared?
No.Something was off.
I turned to Salvatore.He hadn’t said a word since.His silence was louder than Bruno’s excuses.My patience was running thin.“What the fuck’s going on?”I asked, but neither of them had the balls to answer.
No matter how much the old bastard pissed me off, I still visited.Mostly for her.
Rosalina Ferrazzo.My mother.My calm in the middle of every storm.
I was getting ready to head to their place, buttoning my shirt, fixing my tie.I hadn’t seen Mom in a week.She’d been calling every damn day, asking when I was coming.If it weren’t for her, I’d cut ties with that house completely.
“Signore,” Nora’s voice came from the doorway.One of the housekeepers.“Your suit’s pressed and ready.”
I nodded once, and she left, quiet as always.
I took the jacket, slid it on, was about to head out when noise erupted outside my room.Shouting.A scuffle.I frowned, but ignored it — the boys could handle whatever shitstorm that was.
I went into the restroom to wash my hands.A few seconds later, the door to my room slammed.Loud.Not Nora.Too heavy-handed.
When I stepped out, I froze.
A woman stood by the door, her back pressed against it like she’d run from something.Our eyes met, and I felt the air in the room shift.
I didn’t recognize her.Not at first.Her dress was torn and filthy, her brown hair tangled like she’d been dragged through hell.Her legs were shaking, covered in blood and bruises.She looked half-dead.
Then her lips trembled, her eyes rolled back — and she dropped like a sack of bricks.
“Che cazzo...”I muttered, moving toward her.
When I crouched down, everything inside me stopped.My pulse, my breath—everything.
Because lying there, beaten and broken, was the one person I never thought I’d see again.
Ariana Vallezi.
The ghost I’d buried three years ago.
