Chapter 8 - The Road to Montauk
The underground passage led us directly to a small, private two-car garage situated three hundred yards behind the main estate, concealed beneath a thick layer of ivy and stone.
Parked inside was an old, unassuming silver Volvo station wagon. The keys were already sitting on the driver's seat, alongside a thick Manila envelope labeled CLARA.
I strapped Mia securely into the convertible child seat in the back, kissed her forehead, and hopped into the driver's seat.
I opened the Manila envelope. Inside was ten thousand dollars in cash, a burner phone, and a handwritten note from Isabella:
“Drive to 412 Coast Guard Way, Montauk. It is Lorenzo’s private residence—a place Matteo does not know exists. Stay inside. Do not turn on your personal phone. Trust no one who does not use the password ‘Sunshine’. Lorenzo will come for you when it is safe.”
I started the engine. The Volvo purred quietly to life. I pressed the remote button on the visor, the heavy wooden garage door rolled up, and I pulled out into the blinding, pouring rain.
We drove for three hours through the torrential storm, heading east along the deserted highways of Long Island toward the tip of the peninsula.
Mia fell asleep in the back seat, her thumb in her mouth, her gray stuffed rabbit tucked securely under her arm.
I kept my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, checking every pair of headlights that appeared behind us. My hands were stiff from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, my nerves frayed to the absolute edge.
At 1:30 AM, I finally pulled onto a private gravel driveway lined with wind-bent pine trees.
At the end of the road stood a modest, two-story cedar-shingled house overlooking the roaring, black waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
It didn't look like a mob boss's mansion. It looked like a home.
I unlocked the front door using the brass key attached to the Volvo's fob, carried Mia inside, and locked the double deadbolts behind us.
The house was warm, smelling of salt air, cedar, and old raincoats.
May you like
I laid Mia down on the soft sofa in the living room, wrapped her in a wool blanket, and sat on the floor beside her, holding a butcher knife I had grabbed from the kitchen counter.
I didn't sleep a single second that night. I sat in the dark, watching the storm wash over the ocean windows, waiting for the sunrise—or for the monsters to find us.
