Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Gabbi
The bus rolled into town just after sunrise, the steady hum of the engine doing little to settle the weight in my chest. The second my feet hit the pavement, it was like I’d stepped straight into the past. Six years.
Six years since I left, since I forced myself to move on.
But now, standing here, it felt like no time had passed at all.
The streets were the same, lined with coffee shops, small boutiques, and the familiar rhythm of morning life.
I pulled my jacket tighter around myself as I walked toward the curb, scanning the passing cars, the faces of strangers.
Every corner, every building held memories—some good, some I’d spent years trying to forget.
I told myself I was here for work. That this was just another assignment. That I wasn’t coming back because of him.
Lies.
I had spent years following stories that I hoped—prayed—would lead me back to Liam. Stories of missing kids. Gang activities. Human trafficking rings. I had dug deep, burned bridges, made enemies. And now, finally, I had something.
A tip had come in a week ago about a recent surge in activity from the same mafia group that took Liam. The same group Bobby had warned me about all those years ago.
Bobby.
I swallowed hard, forcing my mind away from him. It had been six years since I saw him last. Six years since he looked at me with nothing but hatred in his eyes. I told myself it was what he wanted. That walking away was the only thing I could do after what happened. But God, it still hurt.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and tapped on my messages. My boss had sent me the address of the crime scene I needed to cover today—a suspected gang-related murder. It wasn’t much, but if it was linked to the mafia, it could be the break I needed.
I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address, trying to ignore the way my stomach twisted as we drove through town.
The cab pulled up to the scene, and I stepped out, instantly greeted by the flashing blue and red lights of police cruisers. The air was thick with tension, the kind that only followed violence. I pulled out my press badge, flashing it at the officer standing guard.
“Gabbi Mason, Herald Times,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “What happened here?”
The officer glanced at me before sighing. “Male victim, mid-thirties. Shot execution-style. No ID on him. Witnesses say they saw a black SUV leaving the area right before they heard the shots.”
My pulse quickened. Black SUVs had been linked to the mafia’s movements in the past.
“Any surveillance footage?”
“Detectives are working on it,” he said. “But if this is gang-related, you know how it goes. No one’s talking.”
I nodded, scribbling notes in my leather notebook. I had been in this business long enough to know that getting people to talk wouldn’t be easy. Fear kept lips sealed, especially when dealing with an organization as ruthless as this one.
I scanned the scene, my eyes landing on the chalk outline where the victim had fallen. Blood still stained the pavement, dark against the grey concrete. A chill crawled up my spine.
This wasn’t just a random murder. This was a message.
I took a few more notes, snapped a couple of photos from a distance, and then stepped away, letting the weight of it all settle in. If this was connected to Liam’s disappearance, then I was closer than I had ever been. But what would I even do if I found out the truth?
My fingers curled around the necklace resting against my collarbone.
The silver ring hanging from it was smooth against my skin, worn down from years of absentmindedly running my thumb over it.
Liam’s ring. He had given it to me the week before he was taken, insisting that I keep it because “it looked better on me.” I had laughed, told him I’d give it back eventually.
I never got the chance.
The lump in my throat was sudden, and I quickly swallowed it down. I couldn’t afford to get emotional. Not here. Not now.
I finished up my notes and left the crime scene, catching another cab across town. I wasn’t ready, but I needed to go home.
The house looked the same. White shutters, a red door that had been repainted a dozen times over the years. The flower bed was still well-kept, my mother’s doing. The porch swing creaked in the breeze, just like it always had.
I hesitated at the steps, gripping the railing. My parents didn’t know I was coming. I had made a habit of keeping my distance, of keeping them out of my mess. It was easier that way.
I took a breath and knocked.
My mother opened the door, and the second her eyes landed on me, her hand flew to her mouth. “Gabbi?”
“Hey, Mom.”
She pulled me into a hug before I could say anything else, holding on so tight I thought she’d never let go. I hugged her back, guilt pressing into my ribs. I should have visited sooner.
When she finally pulled away, she brushed my hair back like she used to when I was a kid. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I know,” I said softly. “It was… last-minute.”
Her expression shifted, like she knew exactly why I was here. She stepped aside, letting me in, and the smell of home hit me instantly. Fresh laundry, vanilla candles, and something cooking in the oven.
“I kept your room the same,” she said, leading me down the hall.
When I stepped inside, it was like walking into a memory. My old posters were still on the walls, my bookshelf packed with the same worn novels. But what caught my eye was the small box sitting on my desk.
My mom hesitated. “I thought… you might want some of Liam’s things.”
My breath caught. Slowly, I stepped toward the box and lifted the lid. Inside, I found an old baseball cap, a set of guitar picks, and a folded-up piece of paper. My hands trembled as I opened it.
Gabbi, stop being bossy. You suck at playing guitar. But I’ll still teach you.
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
Mom squeezed my shoulder. “I know you’ve been looking for answers, sweetheart. Just… don’t let it destroy you.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me back to reality. I wiped my face quickly and pulled it out. The number was unknown.
Anonymous Number: Tip for you, Mason. Arson case tomorrow. Same group. Be there.
My heart pounded. This was it. The next piece of the puzzle.
I took a shaky breath and typed back.
Me: Where?
Seconds later, a reply came through.
Anonymous Number: 8th Street Apartments. Fire station should be on-site.
A chill ran through me.
A fire. And the fire station responding to it meant Bobby.
I clenched my jaw, shoving my phone back into my pocket. I had come here for answers. But now, it looked like I was walking straight into my past.