Chapter 9
ISABELLA
The first thing I remember was the sound of wind against the window.
And then… Mama’s voice.
“Bella,” she whispered, her hands already pulling back the blankets. “Wake up, tesoro. We need to go.”
My eyes opened slowly. It was still dark outside. The little snowflakes on the window glowed soft yellow under the porch light. I blinked, confused. “Is it Christmas already?”
She smiled. But it wasn’t her usual smile. It was tight. Her lips trembled a little, like she was holding something back.
“No, baby,” she said gently, brushing hair from my face. “Not yet. But we’re going to play a special game, okay?”
A game?
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The hallway light was on, and Mama didn’t even let me put on my slippers. She scooped me up in her arms like I was still a baby and held me close to her chest.
“Where’s Papà?” I asked, sleep still in my voice.
“He’s downstairs,” she said. “You’ll see him soon. But first, we’re going to hide, just like hide-and-seek. But the real kind. Like we practiced, remember?”
I didn’t remember practicing. Not really. But she was holding me so tightly I didn’t ask again.
She moved fast, her bare feet soft on the wood floors. I noticed she was wearing her nightgown, the one with the lace collar, and her hands were shaking a little as she unlocked the door to the linen closet.
Only she didn’t stop at the towels. She reached up, touched something at the top of the frame, and suddenly—click—the back wall of the closet pushed in.
A secret space.
It smelled like dust and cedar.
She set me down on the wooden floor inside the small, hidden room. There was barely space to sit, and no light, just the glow from the hallway spilling over her shoulder.
“Mama?” I whispered, my chest starting to feel funny.
She crouched down, grabbed my hands. “Listen to me, Isabella,” she said, her voice low but sharp like I’d never heard before. “You stay here. No matter what you hear, you don’t come out unless I come get you. Okay?”
I shook my head. “I’m scared ? —”
“I know,” she breathed, kissing my forehead so fast it felt like a gust of wind. “But you’re strong. You are so strong, tesoro. Just like your father.”
Her eyes were shiny. She smiled again, but it didn’t reach her face.
“Mama, please—” I tried to grab her, but she pulled back.
“You are going to grow up,” she whispered. “You are going to live, and you are going to be whoever you want to be. But not now. Not tonight.”
She looked over her shoulder. A sound—like a creak. And then she slid the panel back into place. Darkness swallowed me.
I curled my knees to my chest, barely breathing. Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. And then— Voices. Deep, low, sharp. Speaking in a language I didn’t know. It wasn’t English. It wasn’t Italian either.
Footsteps. Several. Then— Bang.
My heart stopped.
Bang. Bang.
The house trembled with it. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.
That was the moment everything changed, and Christmas never came.
The darkness became a second skin. The small space smelled like old wood and laundry detergent and something else now. Smoke. A little. And something sharp underneath it that made my stomach twist.
I stayed curled up, arms wrapped around my knees, pressing my back into the wall like maybe I could melt into it. Disappear completely.
The voices outside were muffled, but close. Footsteps. The sound of furniture being dragged. Glass breaking. Something heavy falling.
At one point, I heard someone laugh. And it was the worst sound of all. Like they were having fun.
I held my breath when it got loud. My chest hurt from holding it too long. I thought maybe I’d pass out. But I didn’t.
I just stayed there, eyes wide open in the dark, counting the seconds between the bangs.
One.
Two.
Three.
Bang.
Bang.
Then nothing.
No voices. No footsteps. No sound at all.
I don’t know how long I stayed like that. It felt like hours. My legs ached. My throat was dry. The cold from the floor soaked through my nightgown until I couldn’t stop shivering. But I didn’t move.
I kept waiting for Mama to come back. I kept hearing her voice.
You’re strong, tesoro. Just like your father.
At some point, I stopped counting. At some point, I started crying.
But not loud. Just tears. Sliding down my cheeks, soaking into the sleeves of my nightgown. No sobs. Just silence.
When the sun came up, the light didn’t reach me. I heard new voices. Louder ones. People calling out. Footsteps again, but heavier now. Slower.
Then something scraped. The false wall shifted and bright light poured in. I squinted against it, shrinking back.
A woman crouched down. Blonde hair. A badge on her chest. “Oh my God…” she whispered, reaching for me gently. “Sweetheart… it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t believe her. I just looked at her. And said nothing.
Because I knew something she didn’t. I wasn’t safe. Not anymore.
The woman didn’t rush me. She didn’t touch me, not at first. Just knelt there in the doorway of the closet, light behind her like a halo.
“My name is Claire,” she said softly, voice warm but trembling.
“I’m with the police. You’ve been very brave, sweet girl.
I’m going to help you out of there, okay? ”
I still didn’t speak. My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. My throat like sandpaper. But I nodded. Barely.
She reached for me, slow as anything, like I was some kind of cornered animal. Her fingers slid under my arms, and I let her lift me out.
The air in the hallway felt different—thin and cold. And wrong.
Everything was too quiet. No laughter. No music. No cinnamon from the kitchen. No fire crackling in the living room. Just the echo of boots on wood floors and the crackle of radios from the men in uniforms moving through my house.
I didn’t see Mama. I didn’t see Papà. Just strangers with tight faces and loud voices and weapons strapped to their belts like it was nothing.
Claire wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, but I didn’t remember feeling cold until that moment.
Her hand stayed on my back as she led me down the hallway. “Just keep looking at me,” she said gently. “Don’t look at anything else, sweetheart. Just me.”
So I did.
Even when I wanted to look. Even when I thought maybe if I turned my head at the last second, I’d see Mama brushing her hair or Papà reading the paper by the window.
But there was nothing.
She led me past the living room. Down the front steps. Outside.
The snow crunched under her boots. Mine were bare. I didn’t feel it. The flashing lights from the cars lit the street in blue and red. There were more people out there now. Neighbors watching from windows. A woman holding a crying baby on her porch. A man in a robe talking to another officer.
I didn’t recognize any of them.
Claire guided me toward one of the cars, opened the back door, and helped me in. The leather seat was warm. The blanket still wrapped around my shoulders, but I held it tighter.
I turned just once and looked at my house. Lights on in every room. The front door still open.
And even from here… I knew they weren’t coming back.
Present
The apartment is quiet. The kind of quiet that settles in your bones and makes your thoughts louder.
I’m standing at the kitchen counter, the city stretching behind me in blinking reds and ghostly whites. The moon’s high tonight, but its light doesn’t reach me. It never does.
The gold bracelet slides between my fingers—light, delicate, almost weightless. My mother’s. The only real thing I have left of her. Sometimes I wonder if it remembers her pulse. Her warmth. The way she used to press it against my wrist to measure if I’d grown.
I haven’t. Not in the way she would’ve wanted.
I press my thumb to the tiny clasp and click it open. Then closed. Open. Closed. The sound is soft, but sharp. Like a warning.
It used to hurt. All of it. The nightmares. The screaming in my head. The silence after.
But pain is loud. And when it’s loud for too long, something inside you reaches up and pulls the plug.
That’s what I did. I pulled the kill switch.
I still remember the moment—fifteen years old, fists clenched, heart pounding like it was trying to break its way out of me. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided that grief wasn’t going to eat me alive. That emotions weren’t going to be my weakness.
So I shut it off.
Not everything. Not completely. But enough. Enough to stop feeling like I was drowning. Enough to start hunting .
I slide the bracelet onto my wrist and fasten it. It feels heavier now. Or maybe I’m just remembering too much.
I lean forward, my palms flat on the marble, and close my eyes. I need answers. And there’s only one man I know who might be arrogant enough to dig into hell and still keep his white shirt clean.
My thumb rubs over the small, engraved clasp again and again until the skin beneath it feels raw. I stare out at the skyline, but I don’t really see it. Not the blinking lights. Not the moonlight dancing on the glass. Not the city that kept moving while my entire world stopped fifteen years ago.
It would’ve been her birthday today.
I don’t remember the sound of her voice anymore. Not clearly. I remember the way she said my name that night though. A whisper. Sharp and breathless, like the word alone could shield me from bullets.
The way she pressed a kiss to my forehead, her lips trembling against my skin.
“Stay here, Isa. No matter what happens… don’t come out. Do you hear me?”
I hadn’t known what fear smelled like until that moment. I hadn’t known what goodbye really meant.
My jaw tightens as I push off the counter and start pacing the kitchen. The floor is cold against my bare feet, but I welcome it. I need something to ground me. Something real.
The pain isn’t what it used to be. It’s not a storm now—it’s a quiet hum beneath the surface. Controlled. Contained. A shadow I’ve taught to stay leashed.