Chapter4

They removed the bullet. The doctor said I was lucky—no major nerves damaged.

Vincent came to see me once. He brought flowers.

He said the situation at the docks had been dealt with and I should rest well.

When he said these things, his expression was calm, like he was giving a work report.

He didn't ask if it hurt, if I was scared. He didn't ask how I got out.

He sat for ten minutes and then left, saying Cecilia was traumatized and needed someone with her.

She was merely "traumatized," yet she was staying in the luxury suite upstairs.

After the door closed, I picked up the encrypted tablet from my bedside.

I'd modified it myself, leaving a few backdoors that only I knew about.

All of Vincent's systems, including his most secure encrypted logs, had passed through my hands at some point.

He trusted my technical skills the way you trust a knife that won't turn on you.

I entered a long string of keys, bypassing three layers of firewalls. A folder labeled "Vincent Costa—Private Logs" appeared.

I clicked it open. Sorted by date, starting with the most recent and scrolling backward.

Most of it was transaction records, personnel movements, orders that couldn't see the light of day.

Cold. Efficient. Like the man himself.

Then I saw the date from seven years ago. Right around when my parents' car accident happened.

I clicked on it.

The log entry was short, the tone like someone discussing the weather.

"Acquisition of the Rossi family patent hitting resistance. The old folks won't budge."

"Arrange an 'accident.' Make it clean, like a car crash. Make sure the younger daughter Evira is present, but survives. She'll be useful."

"Accident completed. Evira's mental state unstable, easy to mold."

"She cried looking at me today. Good. Dependency is the first step."

My finger froze on the screen.

It was like all the blood drained from my head in an instant. My ears were ringing.

I read it word by word. Then read it again.

It wasn't an accident.

He arranged it. He killed my parents.

He made me watch them die.

And then he appeared like some savior, took me away, gave me a home, gave me so-called safety and love.

Seven years. He watched me cry for him, smile for him, design weapons for him, give him everything.

He held me, kissed me, told me I was his one and only.

All of it built on my parents' blood. Built on his carefully orchestrated murder.

I didn't cry. I didn't even shake. Something inside me froze completely, hard as arctic ice.

All the pain, the doubts, the self-deception from before—all of it froze in this moment, then shattered.

I exited the logs, erasing all traces of my access.

Then I opened the final file of "Ghost Protocol."

Inside was an independent assembly module, labeled "Final Key—Real."

Next to it was an almost identical file, labeled "Final Key—Fake."

The fake key could activate the protocol, but it would automatically lock after three hundred hours of core computation and reversely burn out the hardware.

Vincent only knew about the fake key. The real one, I'd never told anyone about.

I picked up another completely independent phone. This SIM card would be destroyed after one use. I dialed a number that went through three relays.

Three rings, then someone picked up. Silence on the other end.

"Mr. Luca Marino, this is Evira Rossi. Regarding my previous proposal, the complete version of 'Ghost Protocol'—I'm ready."

Two seconds of silence on the other end.

"Conditions." His voice was low, direct.

"I want the Costa family completely destroyed. I want Vincent Costa to lose everything. Power, wealth, dignity." I paused. "After it's done, I want complete freedom and independent security guarantees. You can't try to control me or my inventions."

"Fair enough." Luca said. "How do I know what you have is real?"

"We can arrange a small-scale verification. You specify the time and a neutral location." I said. "But if you agree to the deal, I need you to start mobilizing resources immediately. Vincent's going to make a move on the East District docks soon—that's your territory. You can prepare in advance."

Another silence. Then he said: "Tomorrow afternoon, three o'clock. Old City Museum, Greek antiquities hall. Come alone. Bring your proof of good faith."

"I will." I said.

The call ended. I pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and threw it in the toilet, flushing it down.

I walked back to the window. The medical facility was in a secluded part of the estate. Outside the window were manicured lawns, and in the distance I could see the outline of the main house, lit up brightly.

Vincent was probably with Cecilia right now. Comforting her, telling her the danger had passed, that he would protect her.

He didn't know that the real danger was just beginning. And this time, it came from the knife he'd spent seven years sharpening but never truly seen clearly.

I touched my left shoulder, still throbbing with pain. Wounds heal, but some things, once broken, can never be put back together.

The rules have changed, Vincent. Now it's my turn.