Chapter 12 - The End Of The Ghost
The Montreal train station was a cathedral of steel and glass, echoing with the rush of thousands of morning commuters.
I stood on the platform, my breath pluming in the freezing Canadian air. Luca stood beside me, wearing a long black wool coat, his eyes scanning the crowd with predator-like intensity.
“He’s supposed to meet you at the clock tower,” Luca said, his voice low over the roar of a departing train.
I gripped the handle of my small leather bag. Inside was the broken silver locket.
“What if he runs?” I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs. “What if he sees you and thinks it’s a trap?”
“He won’t see me,” Luca promised. He stepped back into the shadow of a massive concrete pillar. “I’m just here to make sure you get answers. And to bring him home.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath.
I walked toward the towering brass clock in the center of the terminal.
Ten years.
Ten years of birthdays, graduations, and holidays without him. Ten years of thinking I wasn't enough to make a man stay.
I reached the clock.
I waited.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
The crowd thinned as a train departed.
And then, I saw him.
He was older. His hair was completely gray, and he walked with a slight limp. He wore a faded canvas jacket and a flat cap pulled low over his eyes.
He stopped twenty feet away.
He looked at me.
I felt the tears hot and heavy in my eyes. “Dad?”
Robert Reed took a staggering breath. He pulled the cap off his head.
“Emma,” he choked out. “My God. Look at you.”
He took a step forward, but then his eyes darted nervously around the station. Old habits. A decade of looking over his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I said, walking toward him. I reached into my coat and pulled out the broken silver locket.
He saw it. The metal gleamed in the station lights.
“Marco is in custody,” I said, my voice breaking. “Vanessa is on the run, but her accounts are frozen. The family knows, Dad. Luca knows you tried to save her.”
My father fell to his knees right there on the dirty station floor.
He covered his face with his calloused hands, and ten years of terror, guilt, and loneliness poured out of him in heavy, wrenching sobs.
I dropped to my knees beside him and threw my arms around his neck. He smelled like sawdust and cold air, just like I remembered.
“I’m sorry,” he wept, clutching my coat. “I’m so sorry I left you and your mother. I thought I was protecting you. They would have killed you, Emmie. They would have killed you.”
“I know, Dad,” I whispered, crying into his shoulder. “I know.”
Answer one: The ghost was finally laid to rest. My father was safe.
Open two: Vanessa was still out there. But that wasn’t my battle anymore.
Footsteps approached.
My father tensed, looking up.
Luca stepped out of the shadows. He looked down at the man who had held his dying sister.
My father tried to stand, fear flashing in his eyes.
“Mr. Moretti,” my father stammered. “I swear I didn’t know it was a hit. I just drove the car. I tried to pull her out of the fire—”
Luca raised a hand, stopping him.
Then, the head of the Chicago mafia did something no one in his family had ever done.
He reached down, grabbed my father’s hand, and helped him to his feet.
“I know you did, Robert,” Luca said softly. “You kept her son’s necklace safe. And you raised a daughter who saved that boy’s life last night.”
Luca looked at me. There was a profound, quiet respect in his eyes.
“Your debt is clear,” Luca told my father. “You’re coming back to Chicago. Under my protection.”
My father wept, nodding.
Luca turned and began walking back toward the private trains, giving us the space we needed.
I looked at the brass clock.
My shift at the mansion was supposed to start in an hour. I was supposed to be polishing sinks and making beds.
Instead, I linked my arm through my father’s, feeling the solid, living weight of him.
May you like
The thieving little maid was gone.
And for the first time in my life, I felt truly rich.
