Chapter 7 - The Shadows of Logan SquareThe drive back to Lake Forest was silent, the black town car moving through the dark, snowy streets of Chicago like a ghost.
Ellie sat near the window, her forehead resting against the cold glass. The reality of her situation was finally settling in. She was not just a prop in Dante's game; she was the center of a war she had never asked to fight.
"I want to go to my apartment," she said suddenly.
Dante didn't look at her. "No."
"I need to get my things, Dante!" Ellie turned to face him, her eyes bright with angry tears. "My laptop, my old journals, the photos of my mother... they're still in Logan Square. If Silvio Moretti really wants to hurt me, he'll go there. He'll destroy everything I have left."
Dante silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Finally, he tapped the glass divider.
"Marcus," he said. "Logan Square. The alley entrance."
Ten minutes later, the car pulled up in the dark, narrow alley behind Ellie's apartment building. The snow was falling heavily now, covering the garbage cans and fire escapes in a thick, dirty white blanket.
"Stay in the car," Dante ordered as he opened his door.
"I'm coming with you," Ellie said, already opening her own door before he could stop her. "It’s my apartment."
Dante let out an irritated growl but didn't argue. He pulled a heavy black wool coat from the front seat and threw it over her shoulders, then took her hand, guiding her through the slush to the back door of the building.
The narrow stairwell smelled of old cooking grease and damp carpet—the familiar smells of her old life. But as they reached the third floor, Ellie stopped.
The door to her apartment was hanging off its hinges, the wood splintered around the lock.
"Dante," she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.
Dante was already in front of her, his hand sliding inside his jacket to grip the handle of his gun. He pushed the door open slowly, his eyes scanning the dark interior.
The apartment was ruined.
Her secondhand couch had been slashed to pieces, the stuffing spilling out like dirty snow. Her bookshelves had been overturned, her novels torn from their spines. And on the wall above her kitchen counter, written in thick, black spray paint, were four words:
THE BILL IS DUE.
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Ellie sank to her knees in the middle of the wreckage, her hands clutching a handful of torn pages from her half-finished novel. The tears she had been holding back for three weeks finally broke, spilling over her cheeks as she wept for the life she had lost, the ordinary, safe life that was now gone forever.
Dante knelt beside her, his gun still in his hand, his face a dark, terrifying storm of rage and guilt. He didn't say anything. He simply pulled her against his chest, his large arms wrapping around her as she sobbed into the wet wool of his coat, the snow falling through the broken window behind them like ashes over a grave.
