Chapter 9 - The House on the HillThree months later, upstate New York looked like a postcard painted in orange, red, and gold.
The white-paneled farmhouse sat on a sprawling hill overlooking a quiet lake. There were no armed guards standing in the driveway, no hidden cameras in the trees, and no whispers of blood in the wind. Just the sound of rustling leaves and the steady, rhythmic creak of brand-new iron chains swaying in the autumn breeze.
Maria stood on the front porch, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands, watching the golden sunlight spill across the grass.
From the center of the yard, high up on the red leather swing, a little girl in a bright yellow dress soared upward into the crisp morning air, screaming with pure, unadulterated joy.
"Higher, Signore!" Sophia yelled at the top of her lungs. "Higher! I can almost touch the sky!"
Standing behind her, holding the swing steady with a pair of leather-gloved hands, Alessandro Moretti pushed gently. He wasn't wearing a tailored black suit today. He wore a simple flannel shirt, his sleeves rolled up, a faint, genuine smile resting on his lips as he watched the child fly.
At the edge of the property line, parked discreetly under the shade of an oak tree, Marco sat in the passenger seat of an unmarked sedan. He looked down at his notepad, clicked his pen shut, and tossed it onto the dashboard.
May you like
For the first time in a decade, the notepad was entirely blank.
Marco smiled to himself, put the car in reverse, and drove away, leaving the shadow behind them for good.
