Elvira's POV
My name is Elvira Russell.
Right now, I'm staring at the rearview mirror.
A black SUV.
It's been tailing me for four blocks.
That's not coincidence.
"Mommy, are the people in that car bad guys?"
Ella's voice drifts from the back seat.
My five-year-old daughter hugs her bunny-themed tablet, the screen alive with animation code she wrote herself.
"They're just going the same way, sweetheart."
I lie.
My fingers tap the steering wheel in a rhythm that isn't random.
Morse code.
Stay calm.
I swing the car into the parking lot beside Central Park.
The tires scream in protest.
I scoop Ella up, grab my backpack, and move fast toward the park entrance.
Tuesday sunlight filters through the trees, scattering gold across the pavement.
I feel none of it.
Only the chill crawling up the back of my neck.
"Elvira."
That voice.
Low.
Rough.
Chicago South Side grit wrapped in Italian silk.
Five years.
And it still freezes my blood.
I turn.
Instinctively, I pull Ella behind me.
Luca Vittorio stands ten feet away.
A wall of black that wasn't there a second ago.
Time hasn't softened him.
It's sharpened him.
Silver at his temples makes him more dangerous, not older.
Black cashmere coat.
Tailored suit sculpted over broad shoulders.
And the family ring.
I've traced its cold surface too many nights to count.
"Mr. Vittorio."
My voice stays steady.
"Didn't expect to see you in New York."
"I've been looking for you for five years."
He steps closer.
The scent hits me first—
expensive tobacco, absinthe.
Same formula.
Same smell that makes my pulse betray me.
His gaze slides past me.
Locks onto Ella.
I watch the iceberg crack.
Shock.
Confirmation.
Then something raw.
Unfiltered.
His fingers loosen without him realizing it.
"Hello."
He's not speaking to me.
He crouches.
His men instantly shift positions, hands hovering near concealed weapons.
"I'm Luca."
His voice changes.
Softens.
I've never heard this version of him.
"You must be Ella."
Ella peeks out from behind my leg.
Her chestnut curls glow like honey in the sunlight.
"How do you know my name?"
"Your mother talks about you."
He lies without blinking.
"Many times."
He stands again.
The warmth vanishes.
His eyes return to me.
"We need to talk."
It's not a suggestion.
"Now."
"My daughter—"
"Marco."
He doesn't raise his voice.
A man who looks like a friendly accountant steps forward, smiling at Ella.
"I heard there's the best chocolate ice cream truck in New York right outside the park. Want to see it?"
Ella looks up at me.
Gray eyes full of questions.
The same eyes Luca has.
"We'll talk right here."
I face Luca.
Then I crouch and whisper to Ella.
"Sweetheart, go with Uncle Marco and check out the ice cream truck. Mommy will be right here, okay? You'll be able to see me the whole time."
She hesitates.
Then nods.
Marco takes her hand and walks her toward a bench about twenty feet away.
Close enough for my eyes.
Close enough for Luca's protection circle.
Luca steps closer.
Now I see the red veins in his eyes.
Smell the heavier tobacco on his coat.
He's been smoking too much.
"Someone is hunting you."
He doesn't waste words.
"Besides you?" I arch a brow.
"This isn't a joke, Elvira."
His voice drops.
It slides over my skin like something dangerous.
"Three days ago, someone breached my core system. Same signature as yours."
My heart stumbles.
"Impossible—"
"Possible."
He pulls out his phone.
Turns the screen toward me.
Code.
My code.
The architecture I built five years ago to shield his system.
Now it's in an attack log.
"The Silencers are back."
Each word hits like ice.
"They're either copying you… or someone leaked your tools."
He pauses.
His ash-gray eyes lock onto mine.
"I quit," I say through clenched teeth.
"Five years ago. I only do legal work now—"
"You upgraded the security of Radiant Jewelry last week."
He cuts me off.
The screen switches.
A photo appears.
My apartment building.
Last night.
Two unfamiliar men loitering at the entrance.
"Radiant Jewelry is a Costa family laundering hub. The vulnerability you patched blocked the Silencers' route. Now Costa thinks you work for me. And the Silencers think you declared war."
He flips the phone again.
Now the screen shows a red interface.
One label.
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL.
"Press it."
He places the phone in my hand.
His fingers brush my palm.
Electric shock.
"Within ten minutes, a helicopter lands on the nearest rooftop. Fingerprint and facial recognition are already set. Only you can trigger it."
I stare at the red button.
Then at him.
"What do you want in return? My freedom? My skills?"
"I want you alive."
His voice turns rough.
"And I want her alive."
He looks at Ella.
She's carefully licking chocolate ice cream while Marco talks to her.
"Someone breached her school system yesterday."
His voice drops lower.
"They pulled her records. Tried to access family data. If she hadn't written her own alert script, we wouldn't even know."
Ice floods my veins.
Ella?
Alert script?
"When did you—"
"Yesterday."
He doesn't hide it.
"You went to the supermarket. Marco took her to the park. She told him herself. Said, 'Bad people are trying to hack my school.'"
Five years old.
She detected the intrusion.
She wrote the alarm.
I look at my daughter.
A little girl with chocolate on her lips and dimples when she smiles.
She has my hair.
Luca's eyes.
And our shared instinct for code.
"She can't be dragged into this world," I whisper.
"She already is."
He steps closer.
Too close.
I see my reflection in his pupils.
"Because she's your daughter. Because you are Ghost."
The name hits like a gunshot.
"The Ghost who once shut down half the Midwest mafia network. They found you. Now they're looking for her."
He takes the phone back.
Swipes the screen.
Another feed appears.
Security footage.
My apartment.
This morning.
Two gloved men rummaging through my desk.
"They broke in today," Luca says.
"My people handled it. But there will be more."
He puts the phone back in my hand.
"Your only option is my protection. One month. You reinforce my systems. I guarantee your safety. After thirty days, if you still want to leave, I'll arrange it myself."
"What guarantee do I have?" My voice trembles.
He's silent for three seconds.
Then he says:
"I swear it on my blood in her veins."
That sentence lands harder than any threat.
I look at Ella.
She's talking animatedly to Marco, hands moving in the air.
My daughter.
My reason for leaving Chicago.
"Strictly professional," I say at last.
"Strictly professional," Luca repeats.
But something flickers in his eyes.
He turns to leave.
Then stops.
Looks back at Ella one last time.
And then it happens.
Ella taps her chin with her right index finger.
Three taps.
Pause.
Two taps.
The way she thinks.
It's Luca's habit.
I watch Luca freeze.
He stares at her.
At the little girl he's never met.
At the unconscious gesture she copied perfectly.
His throat moves.
His fingers tighten.
Something in his ash-gray eyes shatters—
then rebuilds itself into something more dangerous.
Blood recognizes blood.
Silent.
Violent.
Overwhelming.
Then he walks away.
His black coat rises in the autumn wind like the wings of a crow.
Marco brings Ella back.
She crashes into my arms, mouth full of chocolate.
"Mommy, Mr. Luca's car is huge!"
"Yes, sweetheart."
I hold her too tight.
She wriggles slightly.
We walk toward Luca's car.
A black SUV that looks ordinary.
I know it isn't.
The driver opens the door.
I glimpse the outline of a holster at his waist.
Protection.
Cage.
Sometimes, there's no difference.
The car moves toward the Upper East Side.
Ella falls asleep against me quickly.
Her small hand grips my finger.
I look down at her face.
Her long lashes.
Her eyes.
The same eyes as Luca's.
My other hand holds the phone.
The red button glows faintly in the dim cabin.
One month.
Thirty days.
Enough time to patch an empire's digital defenses.
Enough time to reopen wounds from five years ago.
Or grow something entirely new.
Outside the window, New York lights ignite one by one.
The city I've hidden in for five years now feels unfamiliar.
And I know one thing with terrifying clarity:
From the moment Luca saw Ella tap her chin, the terms of this deal changed.
This is no longer protection in exchange for skills.
This is blood claiming blood.
And my daughter and I have just stepped willingly into the territory of the most dangerous man in America.
Ella stirs in her sleep.
Murmurs something soft.
I hear the words clearly:
"…Daddy's car is so big…"
The word hangs in the air.
An unexploded bomb.
What I don't know is that, several blocks away, Luca Vittorio stands in a dark office, holding a freshly delivered report.
Title:
Silencers and Carmine Family Joint Operation Confirmed.
Primary Target: Elvira Russell.
Ultimate Objective: Use her to penetrate the Vittorio core system.
Luca lights a cigar.
The flame carves his jawline out of the darkness.
"Tell Carmine," he says to Marco in the shadows, his voice colder than a Siberian night,
"if his people get close to them again, I'll send his sons' fingers back one by one. Starting with the youngest."
The order is given.
The war begins.
And inside the car heading toward the Upper East Side, I know none of it.
I just hold my sleeping daughter.
Stare at the red button on the screen.
Sometimes the deadliest vulnerability isn't a hole in a firewall.
It's the emotional backdoor you left inside a man's heart five years ago.
Unpatched.
Unforgotten.
Now he's coming to collect.
In the name of protection.
In the name of blood.
In the name of the daughter I can no longer deny.