Chapter 5 - The Drive to Lake Geneva
The black, armored Cadillac Escalade glided silently down Interstate 94 through the blinding autumn rain.
In the back seat, my fifty-two-year-old mother, Mary, sat wrapped in a warm wool blanket, staring out the tinted window with wide, terrified eyes. Beside her, my nineteen-year-old brother, Leo, was clutching his backpack, his jaw slack as he looked at the leather upholstery, the built-in champagne cooler, and the two heavily armed, silent Moretti security men sitting in the front seats.
Beside me, resting his gray muzzle comfortably on my lap, was Bruno.
Dr. Stevens’ assistant, a quiet young woman named Sarah, sat in the jump seat, constantly monitoring Bruno’s IV line and heart rate monitor.
"Emma..." my mother whispered for the fourth time since Luca's men had knocked on her apartment door at midnight and politely ushered her into the vehicle. "What is happening? Who were those men? Why did they pack our bags? Are we in trouble?"
"No, Mom," I said softly, stroking Bruno's warm ears. "We're not in trouble. We're being protected."
"Protected from who?!" Leo blurted out, leaning forward. "Emma, those guys who came to the apartment had guns under their jackets! Real ones! They looked like the guys from The Godfather!"
"Leo, quiet," I warned gently, glancing at the driver, a scarred veteran named Frank who didn't even turn his head.
"Mr. Moretti is... a businessman," I explained carefully to my family. "I helped him with a personal matter tonight. His family is having a dispute, and he wanted to make sure we were safe until it's resolved."
My mother looked at the sleeping German shepherd resting on my knees, then at the dirt still under my fingernails and the ruined black dress I was wearing beneath a borrowed cashmere coat.
"That's his dog, isn't it?" my mother asked softly. "The one you talked about in your letters?"
"Yes," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. "This is Bruno."
My mother reached across the seat, her calloused, hard-working hand covering mine. She didn't ask any more questions. She knew what it meant to work for powerful people in Chicago. She knew that sometimes, staying alive meant keeping your mouth shut and trusting the person who held the wheel.
An hour later, the Escalade turned off the main highway onto a long, winding driveway flanked by massive, ancient oak trees.
A set of giant iron gates swung open automatically, revealing a breathtaking stone mansion sitting on the edge of a black, mirror-like lake. The house was illuminated by soft perimeter lighting, looking less like a home and more like a modern fortress.
The SUV pulled up beneath the grand portico.
Four security guards in black suits stepped forward immediately, opening the doors and holding umbrellas over our heads as we stepped out into the crisp, cool air of Lake Geneva.
"Welcome to the estate, Miss Sullivan," the head house manager—a poised, silver-haired woman named Mrs. Gable—said with a warm, respectful bow. "Mr. Moretti called ahead. Your rooms are prepared, a hot meal is waiting in the dining room, and the veterinary suite is ready for Bruno."
Leo’s mouth dropped open as he looked up at the soaring stone arches and crystal entrance hall. "Emma... this place is bigger than our entire high school."
"Please," I said to Mrs. Gable. "Just help me get Bruno settled first."
"Of course, my dear," Mrs. Gable smiled warmly. "Follow me."
The veterinary suite on the ground floor was better equipped than most human clinics I had seen in South Chicago. Within twenty minutes, Bruno was lying on a plush orthopedic dog bed in a heated room, fresh water and boiled chicken resting in silver bowls beside him. His fever was gone, his breathing was steady, and he looked up at me with bright, intelligent eyes, licking my hand gratefully before closing his eyes to rest.
After seeing my mother and brother settled into their luxurious guest suites on the second floor, Mrs. Gable led me to the master guest wing at the end of the hall.
The room was stunning. A king-sized bed covered in white Egyptian cotton, a roaring stone fireplace, and a private balcony overlooking the dark, mist-covered lake. On the bed lay a clean set of clothes—a soft grey cashmere sweater and comfortable trousers—alongside a tray of tea and fresh fruit.
"Mr. Moretti instructed us to ensure you want for nothing, Miss Sullivan," Mrs. Gable said gently, setting a hot cup of chamomile tea on the nightstand. "Get some sleep. You've had a long night."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," I murmured.
After she left, I took a long, hot shower, washing away the dirt, rain, and fear of the past six hours. I dressed in the soft cashmere sweater, sat by the fireplace, and pulled the silver key Luca had given me out of my pocket.
I held it in my palm, staring at the polished metal.
My phone, resting on the tea tray, vibrated softly.
It was an unknown number.
I picked it up, pressing it to my ear. "Hello?"
"Emma."
Luca’s voice was deep, hoarse, and carried over the line like a low rumble of thunder.
My breath caught. "Mr. Moretti."
"Is Bruno alright?" he asked immediately.
"He's wonderful," I said, a soft smile breaking across my face. "His fever broke, he ate some chicken, and he's sleeping on an orthopedic bed in the clinic downstairs. My family is safe, too. Thank you."
A long silence stretched over the line. I could hear the distant sound of rain beating against glass on his end, and the faint, rhythmic clinking of ice in a whiskey glass.
"Marco Bellini arrived at the estate twenty minutes ago," Luca said, his voice dropping into a tone that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
I squeezed the silver key in my hand. "What happened?"
"He brought two men," Luca said flatly. "He thought he was coming to collect his daughter and cover up a mess. He didn't know I had his safe."
"Is... is it over?" I whispered.
"Marco Bellini will never threaten anyone in this city again," Luca answered, his voice devoid of any doubt or hesitation. "And Vanessa has been handed over to the federal authorities alongside twelve years of her father's financial corruption records. The Bellini family is finished, Emma."
I let out a long, shuddering breath, closing my eyes. "And you?"
"I am standing in my father's garden," Luca said softly. "Looking at an empty lawn."
The sadness in his voice hit me like a physical blow. He had won the war, he had avenged his father, he had destroyed his enemies—but he was standing alone in the rain in an empty mansion.
"He's not gone, Luca," I said softly, dropping the formal title for the first time. "Bruno is waiting for you here."
Another long silence stretched across the line.
"I'm leaving Chicago now," Luca said, his voice dropping into a register that made my heart race. "I'll be there in two hours, Emma. Save a cup of tea for me."
"I will," I whispered. "Drive safe, Luca."
"Always."
May you like
The line went dead.
I set the phone down, pulled my knees up to my chest, and looked out at the dark lake, waiting for the headlights of the Phoenix to cut through the night.
