Chapter 2 - THE GHOST IN THE MANSION
The silence inside the Lake Forest mansion felt heavy.
Like lead.
Like a tomb built of marble and stolen money.
I stood in the center of the walk-in closet.
My suitcase was zipped shut.
It was a modest gray canvas bag.
It looked entirely out of place among Vincent’s designer suits and custom Italian shoes.
For seven years, this room had been my gilded cage.
Every hanger held a dress bought with blood money.
Every shoe rested on heated imported floors paid for by extortion and fear.
I reached out and touched my wedding ring one last time.
It sat right where I left it on the polished mahogany nightstand.
Cold.
sparkling with three carats of diamond perfection.
A diamond bought to silence my suspicions after his first trip to Miami.
I didn't want it anymore.
I walked out of the bedroom without looking back.
My footsteps echoed softly down the sweeping curved staircase.
The crystal chandelier overhead cast a cold, brilliant light across the foyer.
How many times had I stood here waiting for him?
Waiting for headlights in the circular driveway.
Waiting for his footsteps on the porch.
Waiting for a lie wrapped in a smile.
Never again.
I opened the heavy front door and stepped out into the crisp autumn morning.
The air smelled of fallen leaves and distant lake water.
A silver rental sedan idled at the curb.
I loaded my single bag into the trunk.
The driver gave me a polite nod through the rearview mirror.
“Ready, Ms. Moretti?” he asked.
“Ready,” I said.
We pulled away from the grand iron gates.
I watched the massive estate shrink in the passenger window.
Within an hour, Vincent Moretti would return home early from his fake business trip.
He would walk through these empty doors.
He would find the silence.
And then he would find my letter.
A wicked, liberating smile touched my lips for the first time in years.
May you like
Let the king of Chicago search for his ghost.
I was finally free.
