Chapter 4 - The House of GhostsBy dawn, the storm over Chicago had broken.
The rain that had hammered the city for four straight days finally weakened into a silver mist, leaving the streets below the St. Regis shining like black mirrors. From the seventy-third floor, Lake Michigan looked almost peaceful.
Nothing inside Lorenzo Moretti’s penthouse was peaceful.
Mia stood barefoot in the ruined dining room, staring at the place where she had killed a man less than twelve hours earlier.
The blood was gone.
So were the bodies.
The bullet holes had been patched temporarily, shattered glass removed, broken furniture carried away. Enzo’s men worked with an efficiency that frightened her. Murder had happened here, yet by sunrise the penthouse looked less like a crime scene and more like a luxury apartment undergoing renovations.
Only Mia remembered where the dead man had fallen.
She could still see his expression when she closed her eyes.
Surprise.
Then nothing.
“Mia.”
She flinched.
Enzo stood near the hallway leading to the master bedroom, one hand pressed against his newly bandaged side.
“You should be in bed,” she said.
“So should you.”
“I tried.”
He studied her face.
She had changed into black sweatpants and a loose gray sweater someone had left in her room. Her brown hair was tied carelessly behind her head. There were shadows beneath her hazel eyes.
Enzo walked closer.
“You’re thinking about the man you shot.”
Mia crossed her arms.
“You say that like it’s unusual.”
“In my house, unfortunately, it isn’t.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
She turned away.
Enzo stopped beside her.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Mia whispered, “Did he have a family?”
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
“He was Bratva.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“Do you know?”
Enzo did not answer immediately.
That silence told her enough.
“You don’t.”
“Mia—”
“He could have had children.”
“He came into my home with a rifle to kill us.”
“I know.”
“He would have put a bullet through your head.”
“I know.”
“You survived.”
“I know!”
Her voice broke across the room.
Enzo went still.
Mia pressed a shaking hand against her mouth.
“I know,” she repeated more quietly. “That’s the problem.”
He understood.
She was a physician.
Death had always been the enemy.
Even when patients arrived already fading, even when medicine failed, even when machines became useless and families had to be told the words no doctor wanted to say, Mia’s role had always been clear.
Protect life.
Last night she had aimed at a man’s chest and pulled the trigger.
There had been no medical uncertainty.
She had wanted him to stop breathing before he could kill Enzo.
Enzo touched her wrist.
She immediately stiffened.
He did not pull her closer.
He simply held on.
“You protected someone,” he said.
“I killed someone.”
“Both can be true.”
Mia closed her eyes.
That sentence frightened her because it sounded reasonable.
In Enzo’s world, perhaps it was.
Before she could respond, Matteo entered.
His usual immaculate appearance had deteriorated. His tie was gone, his sleeves rolled above his elbows, and there was a faint streak of dried blood near his cuff.
“We found something.”
Enzo released Mia.
“What?”
Matteo placed a tablet on the marble counter.
“The men who attacked us weren’t supposed to kill Dr. Katherine.”
Mia looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“One of them survived long enough for Luca to ask questions.”
The clinical phrasing chilled her.
“You tortured him.”
Matteo met her gaze calmly.
“Yes.”
Mia looked away.
Enzo moved toward the tablet.
“What was the order?”
“Take her alive.”
Enzo’s expression darkened.
“And me?”
“Dead.”
“That was predictable.”
“There’s more.”
Matteo tapped the screen.
A photograph appeared.
Mia forgot how to breathe.
It showed a house.
Small.
Two stories.
White siding.
A faded blue front door.
A basketball hoop over a cracked driveway.
Her childhood home.
“No,” she whispered.
Enzo looked at her.
“You recognize it?”
“I grew up there.”
Matteo nodded.
“Evanston. Sold nine years ago after Marcus Katherine’s death.”
Mia stared at the photograph.
“My father lost it to the bank.”
“No,” Matteo said.
She turned sharply.
“What?”
“The mortgage was paid.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I checked the county records. The house was transferred three months after Marcus died to a holding company. That company was controlled by a lawyer named Samuel Price.”
Mia knew the name instantly.
“Uncle Sam.”
Enzo’s eyes narrowed.
“Your uncle?”
“Not really. He was my father’s attorney. He came to birthdays. Christmas sometimes. My father called him family.”
“What happened to him?”
Mia swallowed.
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“A few months after Dad died.”
Matteo changed the image.
The screen now displayed property records.
“The house changed hands twice after that through shell companies, but the beneficial ownership remained hidden. Yesterday, twelve hours before the attack here, it was purchased again.”
“By who?” Enzo asked.
Matteo looked at him.
“Volkov Holdings.”
Silence.
Mia felt the floor shift beneath her.
“They bought my childhood home?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Enzo answered.
“Because they believe something is inside.”
The ledger.
Mia stared again at the blue door.
Memories pushed through her mind.
Her mother making pancakes.
Her father shouting at football games.
Birthday candles.
Medical school acceptance letters.
Arguments about money.
Her mother crying quietly in the laundry room.
And Marcus.
Always Marcus.
Smiling too much when he lied.
Drinking too much when he lost.
Disappearing for hours and returning with expensive gifts the family could not afford.
“What if the ledger was there the whole time?” Mia asked.
Enzo’s gaze sharpened.
“Think.”
“I have thought about every hiding place I can remember.”
“Think like him.”
She laughed bitterly.
“I spent my entire adult life trying not to.”
Matteo crossed his arms.
“If Volkov purchased the property, they’ll search it legally first. If they don’t find anything, they’ll tear it apart.”
“Then we go first,” Enzo said.
Mia stared at him.
“You can barely walk.”
“I can walk.”
“You ripped your stitches twice.”
“I’ll rip them a third time.”
“No.”
Enzo turned.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Matteo suddenly looked interested.
Mia stepped in front of Enzo.
“If you go into another firefight today, your abdominal wall could reopen. You lost too much blood last night. Your hemoglobin is already low.”
“We don’t have time.”
“Then send Matteo.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Marcus hid something, you’re the only one who might recognize the clue.”
“I can go with Matteo.”
Enzo’s voice dropped.
“No.”
Something possessive flashed in his face.
Mia understood.
“You don’t trust him with me?”
“I trust Matteo with my life.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t trust the rest of the world.”
The answer silenced her.
Matteo glanced toward the windows, pretending not to have heard.
Mia lowered her voice.
“You can’t protect me by destroying yourself.”
Enzo leaned closer.
“And you can’t ask me to stay behind while you walk into a Bratva trap.”
The word trap changed everything.
Matteo nodded.
“Enzo is right about that part. The purchase was intentionally visible. They wanted us to discover it.”
“So they’re waiting,” Mia said.
“Almost certainly.”
Enzo smiled coldly.
“Then we disappoint them.”
Two hours later, Mia was wearing body armor beneath a black coat.
She hated it.
She hated the weight around her chest. She hated Luca checking the pistol holstered beneath his jacket. She hated that Enzo had refused to remain behind.
Most of all, she hated how quickly she had begun accepting impossible things.
The convoy left the underground garage shortly after eight.
Three black SUVs.
Twelve armed men.
Enzo sat beside Mia in the center vehicle.
Matteo rode in front.
“You look pale,” Enzo said.
“I’m going back to the house where my father destroyed our family while surrounded by armed criminals. I’m fantastic.”
His mouth twitched.
“That sarcasm is becoming attractive.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Flirt with me before a possible gunfight.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
Mia stared.
Enzo considered.
“Fine. I was.”
She turned toward the window.
He smiled.
It was the first time she had seen him smile without cruelty.
That disturbed her more than it should have.
Evanston appeared twenty minutes later.
The neighborhood looked smaller than Mia remembered.
The enormous trees of her childhood were ordinary maples. The hill she used to bicycle down was barely an incline. The park where she thought she had traveled miles alone was only two blocks away.
Childhood had exaggerated everything.
Except the house.
The house looked exactly the same.
White siding.
Blue door.
Cracked driveway.
Mia stopped breathing when she stepped from the SUV.
For a moment, she was seventeen again.
Her mother was alive.
Her father had not disappeared into lies.
The future still belonged to her.
Enzo came beside her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good. People who say yes usually aren’t.”
She looked at him.
“That may be the first sensible emotional advice you’ve given me.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“You contain bullets.”
“That too.”
Matteo approached.
“House is empty.”
“Volkov?” Enzo asked.
“No visible surveillance.”
“That means invisible surveillance.”
“Exactly.”
Enzo gestured.
“Quickly.”
The front door opened with a key obtained through means Mia deliberately did not ask about.
The smell struck her first.
Old wood.
Dust.
Someone else’s cooking.
The house no longer belonged to her memories.
Yet fragments remained.
The staircase where she broke her wrist at nine.
The living room where her mother kept a piano.
The hallway where Marcus measured Mia’s height every birthday.
The marks were gone beneath fresh paint.
Mia walked slowly toward the kitchen.
Her chest tightened.
“My mother died in this room.”
Enzo stopped behind her.
She pointed toward an empty space near the window.
“Cancer. Home hospice. She refused the hospital at the end.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mia almost laughed.
Lorenzo Moretti apologizing for death felt strange.
“She knew about Dad,” Mia said. “Not everything. But enough.”
“She tried to protect you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She kept telling me education was the one thing nobody could steal.”
Mia opened an old cabinet.
Empty.
“She made me promise I would finish medical school no matter what happened.”
“And you did.”
“I’m still paying for it.”
Enzo looked around the kitchen.
“No. You’re paying for him.”
Mia turned.
“That’s different.”
Before he could respond, Luca entered.
“Nothing upstairs.”
Matteo followed.
“Basement?”
“Checking now.”
Mia suddenly froze.
Basement.
A memory surfaced.
Her father shouting.
Not at her.
At Samuel Price.
She had been fourteen.
They thought she was asleep.
Marcus had said, “The walls remember everything.”
At the time, Mia assumed he was drunk.
“The basement,” she whispered.
Enzo immediately noticed.
“What?”
“My father used to work down there.”
They moved quickly.
The basement stairs creaked exactly as Mia remembered.
A concrete floor.
Old wooden shelving.
An outdated furnace.
The finished section Marcus had once called his office had been renovated into a family room.
Mia stood in the center.
“This is wrong.”
“What?” Matteo asked.
“The room is smaller.”
Matteo looked around.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
She pointed at the far wall.
“My father had a desk there. Behind it was a bookcase. I used to hide behind it when we played hide-and-seek.”
Enzo approached the wall.
He knocked.
Solid.
Moved three feet.
Knocked again.
Hollow.
Everyone went still.
Luca brought a pry bar.
Within minutes, drywall cracked.
Behind it was older wood paneling.
Behind the paneling was a narrow cavity.
Matteo shone a flashlight inside.
“There’s something.”
Mia’s heart slammed.
Luca reached in and removed a small steel box.
Enzo looked at Mia.
“Your father’s?”
“I’ve never seen it.”
The box had a combination lock.
Matteo examined it.
“Four digits.”
Mia thought.
Birthday?
Anniversary?
Her father’s gambling numbers?
Then she remembered the height wall.
Every birthday Marcus had written the date beside her height.
Except one.
Her eighteenth birthday.
The last happy birthday before everything collapsed.
“0417.”
Matteo entered the numbers.
Nothing.
“Reverse it,” Mia whispered.
“Why?”
“My father always bet birthdays backward. He said dates had better luck when you made them chase themselves.”
Matteo entered 7140.
Click.
The lid opened.
Inside was no ledger.
Only an old photograph.
Mia picked it up.
Her father stood beside another man outside a restaurant.
Samuel Price.
On the back, Marcus had written a sentence.
If they come for Mia, find the saint beneath the city.
Enzo read over her shoulder.
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Then the first explosion hit.
The basement windows shattered inward.
“Down!” Luca shouted.
Enzo grabbed Mia and threw himself over her as gunfire ripped through the floorboards upstairs.
The Bratva had been waiting.
And they had just closed the trap.
The house shook with the second explosion.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
Mia could hear men shouting outside.
Enzo pulled his pistol.
“Back exit?”
Mia pointed.
“Laundry room. There used to be a cellar door.”
Matteo and Luca moved first.
Enzo dragged Mia with him.
His movements were slower than usual.
Too slow.
Blood had begun spreading beneath his shirt again.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Later.”
“Enzo—”
“Later.”
They reached the laundry room.
The cellar door was blocked by an old cabinet.
Luca threw it aside.
Gunfire punched through the door.
He jumped back.
“Covered.”
Matteo fired through the wooden panels.
A scream answered.
“Move!”
They burst outside.
Chaos swallowed them.
Moretti soldiers returned fire from behind vehicles. Two SUVs were burning. Neighbors had disappeared inside houses. Somewhere sirens had begun wailing.
Enzo shoved Mia behind a brick retaining wall.
“Stay here.”
He started to rise.
Mia grabbed his coat.
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
“Let go.”
“You’re losing blood.”
“Mia.”
“You promised to shield me. Fine. Then stay alive long enough to do it.”
Another bullet struck the brick inches above them.
Enzo stared at her.
Then unexpectedly laughed.
Not loudly.
Not happily.
But genuinely.
“You’re insane.”
“You kidnapped a trauma resident.”
“Fair.”
Matteo slid behind the wall.
“We have ninety seconds before police arrive. Car coming from the alley.”
“Take Mia.”
“What about you?” she demanded.
Enzo looked toward the Bratva shooters.
“I’m ending this.”
She slapped him.
The sound was almost lost beneath gunfire.
Almost.
Enzo froze.
Matteo’s eyebrows rose.
Even Luca stared.
Mia grabbed Enzo by the front of his coat.
“You die here and everything I’ve done becomes meaningless.”
His expression changed.
The fury disappeared.
Something deeper replaced it.
“Come with me,” she said.
Enzo looked into her eyes.
Then he nodded.
They ran.
The replacement SUV screeched into the alley.
Luca opened the door.
Mia climbed inside.
Enzo followed.
As the vehicle accelerated away, Mia looked through the rear window at her childhood home.
Smoke poured from the broken windows.
The blue door hung from one hinge.
Her past was burning.
But she clutched the photograph tightly.
If they come for Mia, find the saint beneath the city.
For the first time, Marcus Katherine had left his daughter something other than debt.
May you like
A message.
And perhaps a way to end the war.
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