Chapter 18 - The Last Stitch
Three days later, the hospital discharged Sarah.
The federal protective custody detail had arranged for an unmarked transport van to take her and Lily to a safe house two hours outside the city, tucked away in the quiet, wooded hills near Galena where the air was clean and the Chicago syndicates couldn't reach them with a ten-foot pole.
I stood on the sidewalk outside the hospital entrance, watching as Agent Vance helped Sarah into the back of the van while Lily clutched her yellow tin under her arm like a sacred relic.
Before getting into the passenger seat, Lily walked over to me, her small fingers clutching the hem of my coat.
"Are you coming with us, Mr. Moretti?" she asked, her dark eyes searching my face with that old-soul intensity that always made me feel like she could see right through my ribs.
I knelt down on one knee, looking at the tiny red spots still visible on her fingertips—the calluses from pushing the sewing machine pedal in Apartment 4B to pay a debt that wasn't hers.
"I have some business to finish in the city, Lily," I said softly, taking her small hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I have to close down the restaurants, sell the buildings, and make sure nobody ever comes looking for that sewing machine again. But when I'm done... I'll take the train west. And I'll bring the rest of the story."
She nodded once, serious as a judge, and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small piece of red thread and tied it securely around my thumb in a double knot.
"Don't forget," she whispered.
May you like
"I won't," I said.
The van doors closed with a heavy, muffled thud, and the vehicle pulled away from the curb, merging into the morning traffic and disappearing into the gray Chicago mist.
