Chapter 1 - THE GIRL WHO SAW THE GHOST
A five-year-old girl walked into the bedroom of the most feared crime lord on the eastern harbor—and within minutes, she discovered something an army of expensive doctors had failed to see.
She stared directly into my eyes and said four words that made my blood run cold.
“You don’t sleep.”
For forty nights, sleep had come to me only in broken fragments.
Every morning, I woke weaker.
Every evening, my hands shook harder.
My name is Dario Castellano.
Until recently, I controlled every dock, warehouse, and shipping route along the eastern harbor. Politicians returned my calls before they returned their wives’. Judges remembered my birthday. Men who had killed without hesitation lowered their eyes when I entered a room.
Then my right hand began to tremble.
Within weeks, my legs stopped obeying me.
Specialists filled my mansion, examined my blood, scanned my brain, and whispered words like “progressive” and “degenerative.”
But I understood what none of them wanted to say aloud.
The lion was dying.
And the vultures had already begun circling.
Aldo Manfredi, my trusted lieutenant for twenty years, appeared beside my bed carrying a leather folder filled with succession plans.
Technically, the empire still belonged to me.
But Aldo’s handwriting was already dividing it.
Then Camilla vanished.
She had cried beside my bed after my diagnosis, promising she would never leave me. Three weeks later, she disappeared with a diamond bracelet from my safe.
Even my captains changed.
The envelopes they sent became thinner.
They were testing me.
Testing whether Dario Castellano was still dangerous enough to punish betrayal.
So I shut everyone out.
Everyone except Elena Marchetti, the quiet maid who cleaned the west wing without staring at my useless legs or offering me false sympathy.
I assumed she stayed because she feared me.
The truth was far simpler.
Elena had sixty-three dollars in the bank and a five-year-old daughter named Giulia to feed.
One freezing morning, the heating system at Giulia’s school failed.
With nowhere else to take her, Elena secretly brought the child into my mansion.
She hid Giulia inside the laundry room beneath an oversized red scarf and gave her strict instructions.
“Stay here. Stay quiet. And whatever happens, don’t speak to anyone.”
Less than two hours later, I heard three soft knocks on my bedroom door.
Giulia stood there.
Tiny.
Nervous.
Completely unaware that armed guards patrolled the hallway beyond her.
I reached toward the alarm beside my bed.
Then she tilted her head.
“You don’t sleep,” she said.
My hand froze.
“How do you know that?”
She studied me with the strange seriousness only children possess.
“Because people who don’t sleep have too many ghosts.”
A chill moved through me.
And for the first time in weeks, it had nothing to do with my illness.
Giulia quietly shut the door behind her.
Then she walked closer.
“I saw somebody come in here,” she whispered.
My heartbeat changed.
“When?”
“When everybody thinks you’re sleeping.”
I stared at her.
She said the person never stayed long.
They always approached my bed.
And every time they came, they carried something small in their hand.
“What kind of thing?”
Giulia shook her head.
“I couldn’t see.”
Then she looked directly into my eyes.
“You’re not dying.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“You’re being haunted.”
Suddenly—
Footsteps sounded outside my bedroom.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Coming closer.
Giulia’s face went pale.
She hurried beside me and leaned toward my ear.
“I know who it is,” she whispered.
“Who?”
She said the name.
And every bit of warmth disappeared from my body.
Because the person she named was someone who had been standing beside me almost every day since I became sick.
Then the footsteps stopped.
Directly outside my door.
Silence.
Giulia grabbed my trembling hand.
And slowly, the bedroom door handle began to turn.
Whoever had been destroying me night after night was coming inside.
And somehow, they seemed to know that Giulia had just told me everything.
“Doctor Bellini,” Giulia whispered.
The handle turned another inch.
I looked at the little girl.
“Behind the curtain,” I murmured.
She shook her head.
“Now.”
She slipped behind the heavy velvet drapes beside my bed.
The door opened.
Dr. Lorenzo Bellini entered carrying his familiar black medical case.
He was fifty-eight, silver-haired, and impeccably dressed.
He had been my private physician for twelve years.
He'd treated gunshot wounds, infections, broken bones, and the consequences of a life that had never been peaceful.
I'd trusted him with my body.
With my secrets.
And now a five-year-old child had named him as the stranger entering my bedroom at night.
“Dario,” Bellini said warmly. “You're awake.”
“Apparently.”
He smiled.
“How are we feeling?”
“Like a man who's dying.”
His expression softened.
“Don't say that.”
He approached the bedside table.
I watched his hands.
He opened his case.
Inside were several sealed packages and a narrow silver instrument.
“What is that?”
“Your evening treatment.”
“It's morning.”
He paused.
“An adjustment to the schedule.”
I stared at him.
“Who authorized it?”
“I did.”
He reached toward the medical equipment beside my bed.
I caught his wrist.
It took nearly everything I had.
My fingers shook violently.
But I held on.
Bellini looked startled.
“Dario?”
I leaned closer.
“Tell me something, Lorenzo.”
His smile disappeared.
“Of course.”
“Why does my treatment change whenever you're alone with me?”
The room became silent.
Behind the curtain, I heard a tiny breath.
Bellini's eyes moved toward the sound.
Then back to me.
“Your condition requires flexibility.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.”
I tightened my grip.
“Then explain it to another doctor.”
He pulled away.
“Dario, you're becoming paranoid.”
I smiled.
It wasn't a pleasant smile.
“People have been calling me paranoid for twenty years.”
He closed his case.
“You need rest.”
“Then stop visiting me at night.”
For a moment, his expression changed.
Something cold appeared beneath the professional concern.
Then he smiled again.
“As you wish.”
He turned toward the door.
And before leaving, he said something that made my blood freeze.
“Your little visitor should return to her mother.”
The door closed.
I stared after him.
Giulia stepped out from behind the curtain.
Her eyes were enormous.
“He saw me?”
I shook my head slowly.
“No, sweetheart.”
I looked toward the closed door.
“He already knew you were here.”
I reached for the telephone.
My hand shook so badly I knocked it off the table.
Giulia picked it up.
“Who do you want?”
I looked at her.
For the first time in forty days, I understood that my survival might depend on trusting someone who had nothing to gain from saving me.
“Find your mother,” I whispered.
Giulia nodded.
Then I added:
“And tell her not to let Doctor Bellini touch anything in this room.”
The little girl hurried toward the door.
I watched her go.
Then looked at the medical equipment beside my bed.
For forty nights, I'd believed my body was betraying me.
Now I wondered whether someone else had been doing it for me.
May you like
And if Bellini was involved, one question mattered more than all the others.
Who had ordered him to kill me?
