Chapter 6 - The Return to the Lake
The wind off Lake Michigan howled like a wounded animal, rattling the French doors of the Donatelli estate as midnight approached.
We didn't have to search long for answers once Detective Miller broke. The corrupt captain gave up the safehouse location—an abandoned maritime storage warehouse on the southern docks where the syndicate used to unload contraband before the federal crackdown.
Gabriel, Franco, and I rode in the back of the armored Maybach through the dark, rain-slicked streets of Chicago. The tension inside the vehicle was thick enough to suffocate. Gabriel sat beside me, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter, his fingers gripping a specialized tactical rifle he had pulled from the armory vault.
“If she’s alive,” Gabriel said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, “I will tear this city apart brick by brick until I find her.”
“And if she isn't?” I asked, my own voice trembling despite my resolve.
“Then whoever took her will wish the fire had consumed them instead.”
When the Maybach cut its headlights and rolled silently into the gravel lot behind the abandoned maritime warehouse, the building looked dark and dead. Only a single flickering yellow bulb illuminated the rusted loading bay door.
“Franco, take the rear exit,” Gabriel ordered in a hushed, authoritative whisper. “Lauren, stay in the car.”
“Not a chance,” I said, unzipping my coat and checking the heavy-duty Glock Franco had handed me in the vault. “She’s my sister. I’m going in.”
Gabriel looked as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at my face told him it was useless. He gave a sharp nod.
“Stay behind me.”
We moved like shadows across the wet gravel. Franco slipped away toward the back, while Gabriel and I approached the side steel door of the warehouse. Using a heavy crowbar from the maintenance kit, Gabriel popped the rusted latch with a single, practiced heave. The door swung inward with a low, metallic groan.
The interior of the warehouse smelled of stagnant water, rust, and old oil. Rows of empty shipping crates loomed like giant tombstones in the dim light filtering through dirty skylights.
From somewhere deep within the center of the structure, a faint sound drifted across the concrete floor—the muffled, rhythmic tapping of someone signaling against metal.
“Over there,” I whispered, pointing toward a partitioned office space in the far corner where a single desk lamp glowed behind frosted glass.
We crept forward, our boots making no sound against the grimy floor. Gabriel raised his rifle, leading the way with the cold, lethal precision of a man executing a military raid.
He kicked the office door open with a crash.
“Don't move!” Gabriel roared, sweeping the room with his barrel.
I rushed in past him—and stopped dead in my tracks.
Tied securely to an office chair in the center of the room, her wrists raw and bleeding against heavy plastic zip-ties, was a woman with wheat-blonde hair, wet cheeks, and terrified, familiar brown eyes.
Natalie.
“Gabriel!” she gasped, her voice hoarse from hours of crying out.
Gabriel dropped his rifle, lunging forward to slice the zip-ties away with a pocketknife. The moment she was free, Natalie collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably as he pulled her against his chest, burying his face in her hair as though assuring himself she was real.
I stood in the doorway, my chest tight, watching the man who had nearly destroyed himself over a ghost finally hold the woman he loved.
Footsteps echoed behind us, and Franco jogged into the office, weapon drawn, checking the corners. “Clear. No one else inside.”
Natalie pulled back slightly, looking up at Gabriel with tear-filled eyes, before her gaze drifted over his shoulder and landed directly on me.
For three seconds, neither of us breathed.
Seeing her face looking back at me from across the room was like staring into a living mirror that had stepped out of a nightmare.
“Laurie?” Natalie whispered, her voice cracking. “How... how are you here? You didn't even answer my voicemails.”
“I came for your funeral, Natalie,” I said, a dry, humorless laugh escaping my throat as I lowered my gun. “Turns out it was a very confusing afternoon.”
Natalie winced, looking down at her bruised wrists. “I tried to warn you. In the last voicemail... I told you someone was watching me. Someone who knew everything about us. Someone who looked like me.”
“We know,” Gabriel said, his arm still securely around Natalie’s waist as he glared toward the dark corners of the warehouse. “Miller told us. An imposter. Someone who wanted to take your place in this city—and in my life.”
“Where is she?” I asked, stepping closer to my sister and wrapping my arms around her in a fierce, desperate embrace, feeling the solid, beating heart beneath her coat.
“She left an hour ago,” Natalie said, shuddering as she leaned against me. “She said she was going to the estate to finish what she started. She said once I was buried and she had Gabriel convinced, the Donatelli empire would be hers.”
Gabriel went completely still. His eyes widened with sudden, blinding clarity.
“The estate,” Gabriel whispered, his voice turning to ice. “My house is empty. The guards are all here.”
Before the warning could fully register, the radio clipped to Franco’s shoulder crackled to life with frantic, static-filled chaos.
“Boss! Boss, come in! We’ve got an intruder at the main gate—she’s wearing your face, Boss, she—!”
A deafening burst of static cut the transmission off mid-sentence.
Gabriel didn't hesitate. He grabbed his rifle from the floor, his face hardening into an expression of pure, unadulterated wrath.
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“She thinks she can steal my life?” Gabriel said, his voice a low, dangerous growl as he looked between Natalie and me. “Let’s go home and show her what happens to ghosts who try to stay among the living.”
We turned as one and sprinted out into the freezing Chicago night.
