Chapter 12 - A New Season-12-
The cabin became a haven, a place where the news from Chicago barely reached us. We kept in touch with Sarah, the journalist, who sent us updates every few months—reports of the syndicate’s remnants being rounded up, the city council slowly being purged, and the legacy of the Morettis becoming a cautionary tale for history.
But for us, the world of the syndicate was a fading memory. We had our own harvest now—the vegetables we planted, the wood we chopped, the river we fished in. We had become a part of the landscape, the silence, and the peace.
One day, Sarah sent us a letter. My father had passed away in prison. A heart attack, swift and silent, an ending that was far more merciful than he had given to so many others.
I took the letter to the river and burned it, watching the embers dance on the surface of the water until they vanished. There was no grief, no relief—just a sense of finality. The last piece of the past had been put to rest.
"Are you okay?" Delia asked, coming up behind me.
"I am," I said. "It’s really over."
"It has been over for a long time, Elias," she said, resting her chin on my shoulder. "You were just waiting for yourself to believe it."
I leaned back into her, the river rushing past us, a constant, soothing reminder that time only moves in one direction. We were finally free, unbound by the secrets of the past and unafraid of the uncertainty of the future.
We had built something here that couldn't be bought or sold. We had built a life on trust, on love, and on the simple, honest truth of who we were.
The forest seemed to acknowledge the change. The seasons turned, the leaves went from gold to brown, and the first dusting of snow coated the valley. But this winter didn't feel like the ones back in the city. It didn't feel like a shroud. It felt like a rest—a deep, quiet preparation for the growth that would follow when the spring returned.
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I realized that I was no longer the man who had walked into that warehouse in Chicago. I was no longer the boss who traded names for lives. I was the man who had chosen to be something else, something better.
And as the snow began to fall, swirling in the air like diamonds in the fading light, I knew that this was the life Ewan had wanted for me all along. A life of quiet dignity, of purpose, and of peace. I turned back to the cabin, the warm glow of the fire beckoning me home, and I didn't look back once. The winter was here, but for the first time, I wasn't afraid of the cold. I had everything I needed to stay warm.
