Chapter 12 - The House Without Christmas LightsThe address in Dante's photograph led to a white house outside Milwaukee.
It stood at the end of a quiet road, surrounded by snow-covered trees. The windows were dark. No wreaths hung on the doors, and no Christmas lights decorated the roof.
Caleb and I arrived shortly before midnight.
We found the back door unlocked.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of coffee and wood smoke. A blanket lay across the sofa. Two cups sat on the kitchen table, one with a lipstick mark around the rim.
Someone had left in a hurry.
I moved through the rooms, searching for photographs, letters, or anything that might reveal where Elena had gone.
In the second bedroom, I found a child's drawing taped to the wall.
A woman with dark hair.
A little girl in a red dress.
A tall man standing beneath a Christmas tree.
Above them, written in uneven letters, were three words.
MY REAL FAMILY.
I touched the paper.
The girl had drawn herself holding the woman's hand.
The man had no face.
I wondered whether Maisie had ever drawn the same picture.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
Caleb raised his gun.
A voice emerged from the darkness.
"Please don't shoot."
An elderly woman stepped into the hallway, holding a flashlight.
She introduced herself as Ruth Collins, the owner of the house. She had rented it to a woman named Anna Reed for eighteen months.
"Where did she go?" I asked.
Ruth wrung her hands.
"She left two weeks ago. A man came by with a black car. He told her that if she didn't leave, he would hurt the child."
"Did she have a child with her?"
"No. Just photographs. She used to look at them every night."
"Did she ever tell you her real name?"
Ruth hesitated.
Then she handed me a folded envelope.
"She told me to give this to you if you ever came."
My name was written on the front.
Inside was a letter.
Gabriel,
If you're reading this, then the worst has happened. Dante has found me.
I wanted to return to you. Every day, I wanted to return. But I couldn't risk bringing him to Maisie.
I watched our daughter from a distance. I saw her take her first steps in Nora's arms. I watched her blow out candles on a birthday cake. I listened to her sing the song I wrote for her.
There were so many days when I nearly knocked on your door.
But I remembered Dante's men outside the hospital. I remembered the blood on the car windows. I remembered what he said when he found out I had escaped.
I stopped reading.
Caleb stood silently beside me.
I forced myself to continue.
He told me that if I ever returned, he would make you choose between the organization and your family. He believed you would choose the organization.
I was afraid he was right.
I am sorry.
Elena.
I folded the letter.
My wife had spent four years believing I would choose power over her.
Perhaps she had been right to fear it.
I had spent those same years expanding the organization, making alliances, building an empire that suddenly felt like a room full of empty chairs.
"Gabriel," Caleb said quietly, "we need to move."
I looked up.
A car was approaching the house.
Its headlights swept across the curtains.
Caleb pulled me into the kitchen and signaled to the men outside.
The vehicle stopped at the front gate.
A man stepped out.
Dante.
He walked toward the house alone, carrying no visible weapon.
I moved toward the front door.
Caleb caught my shoulder.
"Don't."
"He wants me."
"That's exactly why you shouldn't go."
I looked at Elena's letter.
Then at the photograph of Maisie.
I had spent four years letting my brother decide which truths I deserved to know.
That ended tonight.
I stepped outside.
Dante stood beneath the falling snow.
"Where is she?" I demanded.
He smiled faintly.
"Still asking the wrong question."
He took a phone from his pocket and played a short video.
Elena sat in a chair beneath a bare lightbulb. Her face was bruised, but her eyes were open.
She looked straight into the camera.
"Gabriel," she whispered, "don't come for me."
A man entered the frame.
He placed a gun against her head.
Elena closed her eyes.
And Dante stopped the video.
"Here's the question you should be asking, brother."
May you like
He leaned closer.
"How much of Chicago are you willing to sacrifice for one woman?"
