Chapter Six: The Ghost’s Return

A week passed in calculated silence. Ronnie didn't make public moves. No new meetings. No threats. She let the calm settle in like smoke, dulling the family's senses. But beneath the surface, she was building a war machine.

Tommy, now looped into her inner circle, had started pulling records from Dominic's old contacts. Sparks traced burner numbers. Luca handled surveillance. They moved in shadows—because Dominic was watching, too.

Ronnie could feel it. In the way her phone rang twice and stopped. In the glint of a camera lens on a building opposite the estate. In the note left in her car, unsigned: You're not your father.

No, she wasn't.

She was worse.

---

It was a Thursday when the pattern broke.

Sparks burst into the study, laptop open. "Got him."

Ronnie looked up. "Where?"

"Warehouse on Pier 17. He's been using it to move packages. Money, maybe weapons. Possibly people."

Luca leaned in. "It's heavily guarded. Cameras, fences. Looks like he's expecting someone to come knocking."

"Then we don't knock." Ronnie stood. "We take the back door. Quiet. Smart."

She turned to Tommy. "You in?"

He hesitated only a second. "Yeah. Let's finish this."

---

That night, dressed in black, Ronnie crouched behind a shipping container with Luca and Sparks. The docks were still except for the waves lapping against the pier.

She checked her watch. Midnight.

A silent nod. Luca moved first, disabling the camera feeds. Sparks followed, jamming the radio signals. Ronnie led the charge through a side entrance, weapon drawn.

Inside, the warehouse smelled of oil and old sea air. Wooden crates stacked like towers. Footsteps echoed faintly on the upper levels.

They moved room by room until they reached a steel office door at the back. Locked.

Luca kicked it open.

Empty.

But something wasn't right.

On the desk sat a photograph. Ronnie, age seven, on her father's lap. Next to it, a file labeled "Moretti—Successor."

Beneath that—her name, in red ink.

Ronnie picked up the photo. It was marked with a single word: Boom.

"Out!" she screamed.

They didn't hesitate. The three of them bolted, out the door, down the hallway—

The explosion threw them forward, debris slamming into their backs, ears ringing.

Ronnie rolled onto her side, coughing. "Everyone—?"

Luca groaned. Sparks gave a thumbs up.

Dominic had been there. He'd left them a message.

This wasn't just war anymore.

It was personal.

---

Flashback

Four years ago, Dominic stood at the edge of the Moretti estate's garden, facing Ronnie.

"You don't belong here," he had said.

"And you do?"

"I earned my place. You were born into it."

"That's not my fault."

He had looked at her then—not with anger, but pity. "You'll understand one day. When you have to choose between loyalty and survival."

He had left that night. The family assumed he was dead. But Ronnie had never believed it.

Now, she finally knew why.

---

Back at the estate, Ronnie stood in the mirror, bruised and bandaged.

Tommy entered quietly. "You okay?"

"No."

He nodded. "Me neither."

"Where's Sparks?"

"Still decrypting the drive from the warehouse. Could take days."

She turned. "I don't have days."

He stepped closer. "Ronnie… if Dominic's trying to destroy the family, maybe it's not just revenge. Maybe someone's backing him."

She met his eyes. "Like who?"

"I don't know. But if he's got money and manpower, it's not just him. It's a syndicate. Someone bigger."

Her mind began turning. "Then we bait him. Force him to show his hand."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "How?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "We leak a rumor. Say I'm meeting with the Giordano family. Say I'm cutting a deal. He'll think we're rebuilding power—and he'll move to stop it."

Tommy grinned. "Old school."

Ronnie nodded. "Dad would've approved."

---

The next day, whispers spread like wildfire through the underworld. The Moretti heir, back from the dead, was meeting with an old rival to reforge the throne.

Two days later, Dominic called her.

It was the first time she'd heard his voice in years.

"You're making a mistake," he said.

"You made the first one," she replied.

"This ends badly for you."

"It ends," she said, "when you're in the ground."

He laughed. "You sound just like him."

"No," she said, voice cold. "I'm not like him. He believed in family. I believe in justice."

And she hung up.

The war had officially begun.

---