Chapter 5 - The Path to Harrow Falls
It took less than twelve hours for Briggs to locate Isabella. She had done a remarkable job of disappearing, avoiding major cities and banking systems that could link back to Chicago, but the Moretti network was vast.
The report sat on Damian’s desk: Harrow Falls, Pennsylvania. 412 Caldwell Street.
Damian did not take a motorcade. He did not bring his army of enforcers. He left the syndicate in the hands of his most trusted, longest-serving caporegime with strict orders to maintain the peace. For the first time in over a decade, Damian drove himself, scaling the highway eastward in a dark, unpretentious SUV.
The drive took hours. As the towering skyscrapers of Chicago gave way to the rolling hills of Indiana and Ohio, and finally the dense forests of Pennsylvania, Damian felt a profound shift. The air became cleaner, the world quieter. It was a world entirely unsuited for a monster like him.
He arrived in Harrow Falls late in the afternoon. The town was exactly as described—quaint, peaceful, wrapped in the vibrant red and gold leaves of autumn. Children rode bicycles down the sidewalks. Neighbors called out to one another.
Damian parked down the street from 412 Caldwell Street.
The house was small but beautiful. It had green shutters, a well-kept lawn, and a large maple tree with a wooden swing hanging from a sturdy branch. It was a home built on love and survival, completely free of the blood money he had tried to force upon her.
He sat in the car for an hour, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way it never had during a turf war. He was terrified.
Then, the front door opened.
Isabella walked out, carrying a basket of laundry. She looked older, with faint lines of worry around her beautiful eyes, but to Damian, she was stunning. She looked at peace.
A moment later, a young boy dashed out behind her, catching a stray soccer ball before it rolled into the street. He laughed, a bright, clear sound that traveled through the crisp air straight into Damian’s chest. The boy had Damian’s sharp jawline, his dark hair, but when he turned, he had Isabella’s expressive, soulful eyes.
Eli.
May you like
Damian choked back a sob, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. His son. A living, breathing boy who had spent nine years believing his father didn't want him.
Damian opened the car door and stepped out into the autumn air.
