Chapter 6 - The Ghost of Carroll Gardens
The smoke from the gunfire at Mount Sinai had barely cleared when Luca Trevisi realized the most terrifying truth of his life: Nina was gone. While he had been neutralizing the Conti hit squad in the subterranean loading dock, a private medical transport chopper—arranged by Nina’s mysterious, hitherto unknown underground allies—had touched down on the hospital's auxiliary helipad. By the time Luca kicked open the doors of the recovery suite, the bed was made, crisp and empty, save for a single handwritten note resting on the sterile white pillow. “You built your empire on blood, Luca. Our son will not inherit a battlefield. Goodbye.” That was nine months ago. Now, the sprawling, neon-drenched underworld of New York was whispering about a new myth: the "Ghost Queen of Astoria." Operating out of an unmarked, high-stakes underground combat and survival arena tucked beneath an abandoned subway terminal in Queens, a fierce, nameless woman was quietly dismantling the independent syndicates that had tried to fill the vacuum left by the collapse of the Conti family.
Luca sat in the shadows of the VIP balcony overlooking the steel cage, swirling a glass of aged bourbon, his dark eyes locked on the canvas below. His hair was touched with silver at the temples, a permanent monument to the year he had spent tearing the Eastern Seaboard apart looking for his wife. His personal security detail stood ten paces behind him, silent and motionless like gargoyles. "Find anything?" Luca murmured without turning his head. His chief enforcer, Marco, stepped forward out of the gloom, wiping rain from his leather jacket. "We tracked the encrypted burner phone signal to this exact district, Boss. The owner of this arena calls herself 'The Oracle.' She uses underground fighters to launder intelligence, and she refuses all meetings with Trevisi shipping reps." Luca’s jaw tightened, the familiar muscle jumping in his cheek. She thinks she can hide from me in a basement, he thought bitterly. He stood up, buttoning his tailored black coat over his broad chest. "Clear the arena. I'm going in alone."
