Ghostface Backstory Novels & Stories

His eyes went wide with the horror of what he’d just implied. My blood turned to ice. My parents. Who they were. I had never spoken my parents’ names to anyone in this world. Not to Ronan, not to Kaelia. In this life, I had none. I was a ghost from the foster system. I kept my face a mask of confused innocence. “My parents? Finn, they died in a car accident when I was a baby. They were nobody.” He was backpedaling, panic tightening his features. “Right. Yes. Of course. I just meant… the uncertainty. Not knowing your lineage makes the pack elders nervous. Especially now.” It was a pathetic recovery.

I forgot to cover the tattoo. Shit. "Li fantasma, The ghost." Giovanni's eyes widened as he switched his gaze back on me. "Where? Who? What?" Angelina let out a small chuckle, "Oh honey. She's a myth. Nobody actually knows her." "It's you, isn't it?" Giovanni said, staring at me along with everyone else. I looked at Ace only to see him giving me the "Im pissed at you" look. Giving me the "I'm pissed at you" look. Im so screwed.

Snow started falling—hard and fast. I stood there on the curb, freezing, shaking. Three hours in, my phone died. Sonia never came. Before the screen went black, one last thing flashed—Pierre's post. A selfie. Him and Sonia in front of some car, her face turned halfway. Caption: [Under the same snow, our hair turns white. Close enough to growing old together, right?] In the dead glass, my reflection stared back—smiling. Not bitter. Just done. The hundredth promise, traded for a concert and a boy toy.

"You'll be fine. You're too mean to die." Lucky shook his head once, grimacing in pain at the movement. "Get…this…son of…a bitch," he ground out. "Kill him." Grey knew exactly who he meant. Fantasma. Ghost. Everyone in the intelligence community knew of him, but identifying him was another thing. Probably the main reason they called him Ghost. He was invisible, leaving no trace and evaporating into the night. But JSOC had gotten a lead on who it might be, information they shared with no one except Grey's SOG team. The more the information was shared, the greater the chance for disaster.

Rafaelle had a sullen look as he explained. “Before that, I got the trademark of who it was. It’s Ghost.” I rubbed my jaw at the information. Now it made sense why we were having difficulty tracking the phone calls in the beginning. No one had ever seen Ghost before but he was reputed to carry out any scheme without being traceable in the least. Hence, the name Ghost. The interesting part was that Ghost didn't work for anybody and only performed a one-time task. This meant Gaetano was paying him millions to keep him around for longer.

I ask in return. “The question is, what im i!” He says this words to my face word by word and suddenly laughs out of nowhere making me question his sanity. “What are you?” I ask him again. “My name is Richard Ghirardelli but my friends used to call me Ghost” he finally says his name. “Wait, you have friends” I ask him smiling but his face suddenly changes. “I used to have friends, Tim,Sonny,Drue, Abek, Green Man, Web and many others, lots of friends” he says to me as he counts them, I could tell he almost shed a tear.

"But I wish he had." "No, you don't." She feeds the track further in, the sounds of metal grinding against metal bouncing off my ears. "At least you have someone to hate. To potentially mend your relationship with. You have answers. You're not stuck chasing a ghost... But truthfully, I stopped chasing him years ago, and simply accepted that he either doesn't want to be found or he's dead."

I could just tell he would be a coward, for him to stay in hiding just to fire a bullet. A few minutes later, two of the men dragged someone out from behind a false wall panel. He was young, maybe mid-twenties, skin slick with sweat, eyes darting everywhere but at me. Ghost stepped forward, a predator closing in on prey. “Thought you could hide, huh?” Ghost’s voice was a growl. He didn’t wait for an answer before his fist connected with the man’s jaw, the sound of impact echoing in the room. The guy stumbled, groaning, blood already gathering at the corner of his mouth.

He retired about five years ago, letting his sons manage his company. “What does he want with Benny?” “That’s why Rain paid Amanda a visit.” Ghost shrugged; his tone was calm. “We have to do this the old way. This guy was squeaky clean. He paid his taxes to the last dime, not even a parking ticket.” “Squeaky clean,” I huffed, sliding my phone back into my jeans pocket. “Too fucking clean.” I pursed my lips. “What about the wife? How did she die?” Ghost checked his phone. “Boat accident fifteen years ago.”

And then he stepped out. Marcus Kane. Time hadn’t softened him. If anything, it had carved him sharper, leaner, meaner. His smile cut wide when he saw Ghost, the glint of a knife at his hip. “Seventeen years, old man. Thought you’d died with her.” Ghost’s jaw tightened, his voice low, steady. “You should’ve made sure.”