“Is it really over?” I asked, sliding into the seat.

“The legal part is,” Miller said, starting the engine. “But Vance is still out there, and he knows Adrian talked.”

We drove through the dark streets of Chicago.

The city seemed indifferent to the fall of the DeLuca family.

People walked along the sidewalks, their heads bowed against the freezing wind.

When we reached the safe house, the streetlights were flickering.

The snow had started to fall again, covering our tracks from earlier.

Miller checked the perimeter of the house, his flashlight beam cutting through the gloom.

“Everything looks secure,” he said, walking me to the door.

He unlocked it and handed me the key.

“I have to go to the field office to coordinate the arrest warrants,” Miller said. “An agent will be stationed at the end of the block.”

“Thank you, Miller,” I said.

“Lock the door behind me,” he said.

I closed the heavy oak door and turned the deadbolt.

The silence of the house pressed in on me.

I walked to the kitchen and turned on the small stove light.