GHOST OF DESRIES

“To the Vittorio legacy!” Marco Vittorio, Isabella’s brother, said, raising his glass. Standing tall at the center stage in his tailored tuxedo. His voice, heard above all the whispers and murmurs of the guests – families with alliance, loyal friends, and rivals camouflaging as friends. “Here, here!” bloomed the crowd. Isabella Vittorio was wearing a sleek black dinner gown that hugged her curvy figure, her long, wavy hair falling down her back. Her beautiful amber eyes scanning the room, smiling and sipping her drink. “I’d give anything not to be here.” She whispered to herself. “But duty calls.” Tonight, the Vittorio family is celebrating another year of unopposed power in New York’s underworld. But rumors have been going around for days that the Chicago cartel is crossing boundaries, bridging territories. Isabella’s father, Don Vittorio, never bothered about the rumors. Sitting at the head table, a grey-haired patriarch with sharp features even in his seventies, enjoying the party, striking deals and collecting debts in smiles and handshakes. Across the room, Isabella noticed a stranger, a tall, broad-shouldered man, with an aura that commands dominance. He wasn’t in amongst any cliché of groups, standing alone, nursing his drink, his green eyes looking through the crowd like a predator. She could see the tattoos peeking out of his white shirt cuffs. “Romano Russo.” She grasped as she realized who it was. The Ghost. The boss of the rival Russo family. “What the hell is he doing here?” she wondered to herself. Both eyes met across the full crowd of suits and luxurious gowns. He didn’t turn away; this gave Isabella a quick heatwave in her chest – anger or maybe something deeper. She looked away first, quickly, her heart beating fast. Marco is still giving his toast, but this time, on an elevated level. “And to my sister, Isabella, the heart of our family, our gem!” The crowd clapped. Isabella nodded graciously in agreement as she walked to join him at the stage. Then, the light fluttered. The guests began to murmur in curiosity. Suddenly, the door opened violently. Men wearing masks, armed with automatic weapons, stormed into the hall. Weapons raised, ready to fire. Screams burst as gunfire shattered through the room. The guards were gunned down before they could arm themselves in defense. The guests running under tables, women screaming in horror, men striving to take cover. Isabella stood still for not more than a second, terror keeping her motionless as Marco pulled her behind him. “Get down!” he yelled, pulling his pistol. But he wasn’t quick enough. The bullet hit his stomach. He stumbled, blood flowing through his white shirt. Isabella screamed his name, reaching forward as he collapsed to the floor. Vittorio’s soldiers released fire in defense, but the masked men are professional cartel hitmen. They never stood a chance. Bodies dropped riddled with bullets. Gunpowder filled the air, and the smell of blood pooled in the ballroom. Isabelle crawled her way through the chaos, her gown ripping, as she searched for her father. He fell against the head table, a bullet had gone through his chest, his suit drenched in his blood. His eyes, desperately searching for his daughter, had finally seen her. “Papa!” she cried, her hands pressing down on the wound. He gripped her wrist with his forced strength. “Isabella…. you need to listen to me carefully.” She could barely hear him in the midst of the gunfire. “The mole… inside. Chicago…. They are coming for all of us.” Isabella couldn’t see clearly as tears blurred her eyes. “No, papa, now is not the time for that, we need to get you help ---” “No time.” Blood filled his lips as he coughed. “Alliance. Marry…. Romano Russo. Unite the families. Only way… to survive.” On hearing the words her father struggled to say, Isabella’s world turned upside down. Romano Russo? The enemy? The man whose eye bore a hole in her moments ago? “But papa—” she said, trying to find her voice. “Promise me.” He tightened his hold on her hands, his eyes sharp even as life began to fade away. “He will protect you. The Ghost…he is the only one capable of keeping you safe.” Both Vittorio and Russo's men reinforced and retaliated against the masked attackers; many dropped dead, while the rest fell back. Don Vittorio’s hand went still. His eyes were staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Isabella felt her entire world crumble into bits. In the pool of her father’s blood, sobbing, grief embracing her, she felt the weight of his last words crushing her soul. Marry Roman Russo. Her world is now full of vengeance, her fate is sealed by blood – not love. Through the smoke and the sound of the sirens wailing closer, Romano watched her; one can’t tell what was going on in his mind. The Ghost heard and saw everything. And soon, she would be his.