Chapter 11 : Ghosts Don't Stay Dead
The glass crunched under my shoes as I stepped into Mrs. Chen's store.
The front windows were shattered, merchandise scattered across the floor. Rice bags had been slashed open, their contents spilling like white blood across the linoleum. The message was spray-painted across the back wall in red letters: MARCO SENDS HIS REGARDS.
Mrs. Chen sat on a crate in the corner, hands wrapped around a cup of tea someone had given her. She looked up when I entered. Her eyes were red, but dry now.
"Mr. Broker."
I crouched in front of her. Glass bit into my knee through the suit pants—the suit I'd bought to impress Alberto Falcone, now useless in a destroyed grocery store.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "I was in the back room. They didn't come inside. Just threw—" Her voice caught. "Threw things through the windows and ran."
"Did you see them?"
"Three men. Young. One had—" She touched her face, indicating a scar. "Marco. I recognized him. From before."
"He's not even hiding. He wants me to know it was him. Wants me scared."
I stood, surveying the damage. Julio was near the door, looking sick. Marcus hovered nearby, young face tight with anger and fear.
"Find out everything you can about Marco," I told Terry. "Where he's staying, who he's running with, how he's paying for this. He didn't come back alone—someone's backing him."
"Already started." Terry's voice was grim. "Word is he's been seen with Maroni soldiers. Two, maybe three guys who definitely aren't Narrows crew."
Maroni. The other major crime family remnant—what was left of Sal Maroni's operation after his death had fractured the organization. Smaller than Falcone, but still dangerous. Still capable of backing a vendetta.
[THREAT ASSESSMENT UPDATED]
[Marco Santini: Previously neutralized → Active threat]
[New backing: Maroni family remnants]
[Estimated resources: 8-12 men, Maroni weapons/funds]
[RECOMMENDATION: Avoid direct confrontation. Information warfare optimal.]
The system was right. Marco alone, I could handle. Marco with Maroni backing was a different calculation. Open war would destroy everything I'd built—the protection network, the information business, the fragile alliance with Alberto.
"He's counting on that. Counting on me being scared, being cautious. He wants me to make the first move so Maroni has an excuse to crush me."
"What do we do, boss?" Marcus asked. His hands were clenched at his sides.
"We don't panic." I kept my voice steady, projecting calm I didn't feel. "Marco wants us to react. Wants us to charge in and give him an excuse for a real war. We're smarter than that."
"So we just let him get away with this?" Julio gestured at the destroyed store. "Let him terrorize people under our protection?"
"We gather information. We find his weaknesses. We wait for the right moment." I met Julio's eyes. "And then we hit him so hard he never comes back. But we do it smart, not angry."
The silence stretched. Then Julio nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
"Mrs. Chen." I turned back to her. "I'm going to have someone watching your store around the clock until this is handled. Pack a bag and stay with family for a few days if you can."
"I have nowhere to go."
"Then stay upstairs. Lock the door. Don't open for anyone you don't know." I pressed three hundred dollars into her hand—money I couldn't really spare. "For repairs. For food. Whatever you need."
She looked at the money, then at me. "You promised I would be safe."
The words hit harder than Marco's thrown rocks.
"I know. And I failed." I didn't look away from her accusation. "But I'm going to fix it. I promise you that."
"Promises." Her voice was tired. "Everyone makes promises."
I didn't have an answer for that. Some promises couldn't be made—only kept or broken. Time would tell which this one would be.
Three AM. The warehouse office.
I sat at my desk, surrounded by scraps of paper covered in notes. Marco's known associates. Possible Maroni connections. Territory maps. Supply lines.
"Somewhere in here is a weakness. A thread I can pull."
The system had suggested information warfare, and I agreed. But information warfare required information—leverage I could use to isolate Marco from his new backing.
"Why would Maroni back him? What does Marco offer that's worth the investment?"
The answer came slowly, built from fragments of street knowledge and meta-knowledge from my old life.
Maroni wanted to expand. The Narrows was vulnerable—small operators, fragmented territory, no single power controlling it. Marco was a tool, a weapon aimed at the current obstacle: me.
But tools could be discarded. If Marco became more trouble than he was worth...
"Boss?"
I looked up. Terry stood in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee. The steam curled in the cold air.
"You should sleep."
"Can't." I accepted the coffee. It was terrible—gas station brew, bitter and over-extracted. But it was hot, and the caffeine helped. "I keep thinking about that night. When we took Marco down the first time."
"What about it?"
"I should have killed him." The words came out flat, emotionless. "I showed mercy. Gave him a choice. And now Mrs. Chen's store is destroyed and my people are scared."
Terry was quiet for a moment. Then: "You also gained two soldiers from his crew that night. Men who chose you because you gave them a choice nobody else would have."
"That doesn't help Mrs. Chen."
"No. But it's not nothing." Terry sat in the chair across from my desk. "The code you set—no women, no kids, giving people chances—that's why people follow you. Not because you're the scariest guy in the Narrows. Because you're different."
"Different. Is that enough in a city like this?"
"Alberto Falcone called me a street rat tonight," I said. "Before he decided I was worth dealing with."
"And?"
"And he's right. I am a street rat. I came from nothing. I have nothing except what I've built with my hands in the last month." I stared at my coffee. "But I told him I'd build an empire. That someday men would say the same about me as they said about his father."
Terry's eyebrows rose. "You said that to a Falcone?"
"He laughed. Then he shook my hand."
"Hell." Terry shook his head, something like admiration in his expression. "You've got stones, boss. I'll give you that."
We sat in silence for a while, drinking bad coffee in the cold office. Outside, Gotham continued its eternal rotation of violence and survival.
"I'm going to send Alberto a message," I said finally. "Tell him Maroni is making moves in neutral territory. Making alliances with exiled players. See how he responds."
"You think he'll help?"
"I think he hates Maroni more than he likes me. And I think he'll see an opportunity." I set down my empty cup. "In the meantime, I want eyes on Marco around the clock. Every move he makes, every person he talks to. I want to know what he eats for breakfast."
"Done."
Terry left. I stayed at my desk, staring at the maps and notes spread before me.
"Marco thinks he's hunting me. He doesn't realize I'm building a cage around him."
The clock read 4:15 AM. Dawn was hours away.
I kept working.
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