Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the Past
The rain was pouring in sheeted torrents over the South Side of Chicago by the time Serena reached her small, third-floor studio apartment.
The building was a dilapidated brick tenement with squeaking floorboards and rust-stained walls. Serena locked the three deadbolts on her door, leaned her back against the wood, and slowly slid down to the floor, gasping for breath.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her small plastic pill bottle. Empty.
Her heart condition—a congenital ventricular defect caused by the severe malnutrition and trauma of her youth—was worsening. The specialist at the free clinic had told her two months ago that without a fifty-thousand-dollar surgery, her heart would fail before her thirtieth birthday.
"Not yet, Samuel," Serena whispered into the dark room, tears finally spilling past her lashes. "I'm still living. I'm trying."
She dragged herself over to her small wooden desk, reached underneath the floorboard, and pulled out a worn, rusted metal box—the only thing she had salvaged from the ashes of her childhood home fifteen years ago.
Inside lay a faded photograph of her twin brother Samuel grinning at the kitchen table, her mother Eleanor’s brass wedding ring, and a heavy, leather-bound notebook covered in cryptically coded numbers: Michael Hayes’s Journal.
Her father had been an accountant for the city, but in secret, he had audited the shell companies owned by the old Don, Eduardo Corsetti—Vincent’s father. Michael had uncovered a paper trail exposing three decades of political bribery, murder-for-hire contracts, and offshore accounts. That journal was the reason the hitmen had breached her front door at 8:45 PM on that horrific night.
Serena ran her trembling fingers over her father’s neat handwriting.
She had spent fifteen years believing that the men who broke into her home were random thugs. But three years ago, while cleaning the library at the city archives, she had recognized the signature on the land deeds tied to her old house: The Corsetti Enterprise Group.
Vincent Corsetti’s family was the reason her mother’s blood had stained the floorboards. Vincent’s money had paid for the bullets that ended her twin brother’s life.
And tonight, I saved his son, Serena thought, a bitter, painful sob escaping her lips.
Suddenly, a heavy knock echoed against her front door.
Serena froze, her heart seizing in panic. She quickly shoved the rusted metal box back under the loose floorboard and grabbed a small kitchen knife from the counter.
"Who is it?" she called out, her voice trembling.
"Miss Hayes," a polished, professional voice called through the wood. "It’s Arthur Vance. I am Mr. Vincent Corsetti’s personal attorney."
Serena approached the door, keeping the chain latch engaged, and cracked it open an inch.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway was an elderly man in an immaculate gray suit, flanked by two towering guards in dark raincoats.
"I told Mr. Corsetti I am not interested in his offer," Serena said firmly.
"I am aware," Arthur Vance said smoothly, offering a polite bow. "However, Mr. Corsetti does not take 'no' for an answer when the life of his heir is at stake. He has already transferred custody of little Lucas from St. Agnes Hospital to his private medical wing at the estate. The child has had another respiratory spasm thirty minutes ago."
Serena’s grip on the knife loosened. "What? Is he breathing?"
"The private doctors are stabilizing him, but the baby refuses to feed and his heart rate is spiking," Arthur explained, holding out an envelope. "Mr. Corsetti believes you are the only one who truly understands how to handle the child's condition. He has authorized me to pay off your apartment lease, cover all your outstanding medical debts, and provide a legal contract paying you twenty thousand dollars a month."
Serena stared at the lawyer. Twenty thousand dollars a month. In three months, she could afford her heart surgery. She could survive.
But to step into the lion’s den—to live under the same roof as the man whose family had destroyed hers—was an insane, dangerous gamble.
May you like
"If I come," Serena said, her eyes darkening, "it is strictly as a medical caregiver for the infant. I will not be locked in. I will have total freedom to leave when my shift ends."
"Mr. Corsetti has agreed to all your terms," Arthur bowed again, opening the umbrella as he stepped back. "Your car is waiting downstairs, Miss Hayes."
