The Ghost of Vincenzo
IZZY'S POV
I stopped at the end of the hallway, looking at the heavy wooden door like it might bite me, it used to be open all the time. Now, no one went in unless they had to. Two guards stood on either side. They straightened when they saw me.
“Miss Izzy, he’s awake today,” one of the guards said as I walked down the long hallway.
His voice echoed against the marble walls. Everything here felt too quiet now, too clean. It didn’t feel like my father’s house anymore, more like a museum to what he used to be.
I nodded at the guard. “Good. I won’t be long.”
I pushed it open slowly.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic. He was by the window, in that same chair, wrapped in a blanket even though the room was warm.
“Hi, Dad,” I said as I walked in and closed the door quietly.
He turned his head slowly, his movements stiff. His eyes landed on me, searching for something. Then he nodded once. “Izzy,” he said, my name soft on his tongue. “You came.”
“Of course I did.” I forced a small smile. “I had meetings this morning and thought I’d stop by.”
“Meetings.” His gaze drifted back toward the window. “You’re busy.”
“I have to be,” I said, stepping closer. “Things don’t stop moving just because…” I trailed off and glanced at him. “How are you feeling today?”
“I have everything I need,” he murmured. “Everything is here.”
“That’s good,” I said. I waited for him to say more, but the silence stretched. The Vincenzo I grew up with hated silence. He used to fill it with plans, instructions, stories from when he was building the empire, now he just sat in it.
“I handled something today,” I said after a moment. “One of the crews refused my orders. I made sure they won’t do it again.”
That got a reaction. His brow furrowed slightly. “Refused?”
“They thought I was bluffing,” I said. “They know better now.”
“What did you do?” he asked. His words were slow, careful, like he was thinking too hard to get them out.
“I cut them off,” I said. “No supply lines, no money and no protection. They’ll feel it soon.”
His eyes blinked twice. “That’s… harsh.”
I stared at him. “Would you have done it differently?”
He didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands, then shook his head faintly. “I would’ve warned them first.”
A short laugh slipped from me. “You never warned anyone, Dad.”
His lips twitched. “Maybe I should have.”
That hit harder than I expected. “Well, I didn’t. I don’t have time to play nice.”
His gaze shifted back to me, sharper for a second. “They fear you?”
“They will,” I said. “They have to.”
“Fear isn’t the same as loyalty,” he said softly.
“I know,” I said. “But it’s a start.”
We fell silent again. I hated it the emptiness, the way it stretched between us like a canyon, this wasn’t him. My father was loud, he was relentless and he didn’t stare out windows like a ghost.
“I need you to tell me something,” I said suddenly, stepping closer until I was right in front of him. “Do you think I can do this?”
His eyes shifted slowly toward mine. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
“Dad,” I said again, my voice a little sharper. “Do you think I can run this family?”
He stared at me for a long time. Then his head tilted slightly. “Isabella?”
My heart clenched. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“You were so small,” he whispered. “Always running around, always asking questions.”
I swallowed hard. “I still ask questions.”
“Where did the years go?” he murmured, more to himself than to me.
“They’re gone,” I said. “And I need to know if you trust me with what’s left.”
But his eyes drifted again. His voice turned into fragments, my mother’s name, a summer trip we took when I was eight, something about his first business deal. Pieces of the past tangled together like he was flipping through an old photo album in his head.
“Dad.” I crouched a little so I could look into his eyes. “Look at me.”
He blinked slowly and focused on my face. For a second, I thought he was back.
“You’ll be fine,” he said quietly.
“Fine?” I repeated. “That’s all you’ve got?”
He gave a faint, tired smile. “Stronger than me.”
My throat burned. “I doubt that.”
“I know it,” he whispered. Then his gaze slipped again, far away from this room and this moment.
I stood there, staring at him. This man once terrified entire cities with a single phone call. He controlled every piece on the board without lifting a finger. Now he couldn’t even hold a conversation.
I stepped back, the weight in my chest heavier. “I’ll come back soon,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I meant it.
He didn’t respond. He just kept looking out the window.
I turned and walked toward the door. My hand rested on the handle. For a moment, I wanted to go back to tell him I was scared, that I didn’t know what I was doing, that I missed him. But the words caught in my throat. I opened the door and stepped out.
Janet was leaning against the wall across the hall, arms folded. She straightened when she saw my face. “Rough?”
“Worse,” I said.
She fell into step beside me as I started walking. “Did he at least recognize you?”
“For a second,” I said. “Then he called me Mom.”
Janet exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not his fault,” I said. “It’s just not him anymore.”
We walked in silence for a while. My shoes clicked against the polished floor, and the sound echoed too loudly.
“Do you regret coming?” she asked.
“No,” I said after a moment. “I needed to see it.”
“See what?” Janet asked.
“That he’s gone,” I said flatly. “The man who built this empire isn’t coming back.”
She didn’t argue, she didn’t have to. We both knew I was right.
I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back toward his door. “It’s on me now.”
“It’s always been on you,” Janet said gently. “He just cast a big shadow.”
“Then I guess it’s time I stopped standing in it.”
We walked down the stairs, the air around us heavy but clear. Each step felt like another piece of denial falling away. There was no safety net anymore, no one was going to step in and clean up my mistakes.
When we reached the bottom, Janet touched my arm. “You know this changes things.”
“I know,” I said. “I just didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
“Like what?” Janet asked.
“Like good
bye.” i said.
She sighed. “It’s not goodbye. He’s still here.”
“His body is,” I said. “But the man who built everything, he’s gone.”