Chapter 32 - Packing the Ghosts Away
By noon, the decision was made to leave the Montana lodge. While it had served as an impenetrable fortress during the final confrontation with Madame Cartier, it was still a monument to our past—a cage built of stone and security protocols.
“We aren't coming back here,” Adrian announced as we packed the remaining duffel bags in the master bedroom.
“Good,” I said, folding a small sweater of Emma’s and placing it into the canvas travel case. “I’m done living in places where every window needs a field of fire.”
Mateo walked into the bedroom, carrying a heavy metal lockbox containing the final, encrypted physical hard drives of the old syndicate archives—data that needed to be permanently wiped under federal oversight.
“Transport is fueled and waiting on the lower pad, boss,” Mateo reported, his posture relaxed for the first time in years. He looked down at the lockbox and then up at Adrian. “The DOJ internal affairs team confirmed receipt of the final data packets from the New York servers. Richard Vance’s indictment was officially filed this morning. He’s looking at twenty years in a federal penitentiary with no parole.”
Adrian nodded slowly, closing the lid of his own tactical pack. “And Miller?”
“Miller tried to cut a deal in the Queens holding cell, offering more names,” Mateo scoffed, a faint smirk crossing his face. “Too late. The prosecutor threw the book at him. He’ll be sharing a cell block with Viktor Vasiliev.”
“Poetic justice,” Adrian murmured. He turned to Mateo, extending a hand. Mateo didn't shake it; instead, he stepped forward and pulled Adrian into a brief, powerful, brotherly embrace—the kind forged in blood, loyalty, and silence.
“Thank you, Mateo,” Adrian said quietly. “For everything. You kept this family alive when the world was trying to tear us apart.”
“I just kept watch over the pack, boss,” Mateo replied, clapping Adrian on the shoulder before turning to me with a warm, respectful nod. “Dr. Moretti. Take care of him.”
May you like
“I always do, Mateo,” I smiled softly.
Two hours later, the twin-engine charter lifted off from the mountain pad, banking sharply over the snow-covered valley before heading west, away from the cold peaks of the Rockies and toward a horizon that held no history, only possibility.
