Chapter 5 - THE GHOSTS OF UPSTATE NEW YORK
The black armored SUV cut through the torrential downpour of upstate New York, its high-beam headlights slicing through the dense, foggy pine forest like twin blades.
In the backseat, little Leo had finally fallen asleep, his head resting softly against Mrs. Russo’s shoulder, his small fingers still clutching a corner of her knitted green shawl.
I sat in the front passenger seat, staring out the rain-streaked window as miles of desolate highway blurred past in the dark.
"We're five miles out," Luca said, his eyes glued to the illuminated GPS screen on the dashboard. "The facility is called St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center. On paper, it's a private psychiatric clinic funded by an anonymous shell corporation. In reality..."
"It's a holding prison," I finished for him, looking over at his tense profile.
"My father set it up decades ago to silence anyone who threatened the Moretti name," Luca admitted, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "I spent my whole life believing he was a king protecting his kingdom. Tonight, I realize he was just a jailer."
"You can't blame yourself for what your father did, Mr. Moretti," I said softly, turning slightly in my seat. "You were eight years old when your mother disappeared. You were just a kid trying to survive in a house made of stone."
Luca glanced at me, the harsh glow of the dashboard instrument panel casting shadows across his face.
"You're remarkably brave for a twenty-four-year-old housemaid, Emma," he murmured, his voice softening. "Most people run the other way when the Moretti name comes up."
"I grew up in the foster system, Mr. Moretti," I replied, looking back out at the dark trees. "I learned early on that running doesn't save you. Sometimes, you just have to stand your ground and fight for the people who can't fight for themselves."
Luca didn't answer, but his hand left the gearshift for a brief second to rest gently over my knuckles on the center console.
A warm, electric jolt shot up my arm, making my breath catch in my throat.
Before either of us could speak, the SUV crested a steep hill, and a sprawling, gothic stone building emerged from the fog ahead. High iron gates surrounded the property, topped with razor wire and security cameras sweeping back and forth in the gloom.
"That's it," Luca whispered, cutting the headlights.
He pulled the vehicle off the main road into a dense thicket of pines, concealing the SUV in shadow.
He turned off the ignition, the sudden silence inside the cabin broken only by the steady drumming of rain on the roof and Leo’s soft, even breathing in the back.
Luca reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a heavy black tactical vest, slipping it over his shirt. Then he checked the magazine of his pistol with a practiced, lethal click.
"Stay in the car," Luca ordered, looking back at Mrs. Russo, then forward at me. "If I'm not back in thirty minutes..."
"We're coming in after you," I interrupted, cutting him off before he could argue.
Luca stared at me for a long, intense moment. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
"Just stay alive, Emma," he muttered.
He pushed open the door, stepped out into the freezing rain, and vanished into the shadows toward the iron gates of St. Jude’s.
Ten agonizing minutes passed.
Inside the SUV, the heater hummed softly. Mrs. Russo was murmuring a quiet prayer in Italian, stroking Leo’s hair.
Suddenly, the red security light above the facility’s main gate blinked twice, sputtered, and died.
The entire perimeter plunged into pitch blackness.
A heavy iron side door clicked open near the guard tower.
A tall figure stepped out into the rain, dragging a second person wrapped in a heavy gray wool blanket.
My heart leapt into my throat.
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"It's him," I whispered, reaching for the door handle. "Mrs. Russo, lock the doors. I'm going to help."
Before Mrs. Russo could protest, I pushed the door open and sprinted through the freezing rain toward the gate.
