Chapter 4 - The Secret at 214 Brook Street
Vincent wanted us moved to a hotel.
I refused.
He wanted two guards stationed outside my apartment.
I refused that too.
Then he said, “Someone photographed your daughter through my kitchen window.”
I stopped arguing.
By nine that night, Mia and I were installed in a guest suite on the opposite side of the estate from Vincent's rooms.
Claire slept in the adjoining room.
Two guards stood in the corridor.
I should have felt safe.
I didn't.
Mia fell asleep within minutes.
I sat beside her until someone knocked.
Vincent stood outside.
No jacket.
Black shirt.
Sleeves rolled to his forearms.
For the first time he looked less like my employer and more like an exhausted man who hadn't slept properly in years.
“We found the previous owner of your apartment.”
“Mrs. Bell?”
“Margaret Bellini.”
The surname meant nothing to me.
Apparently my face showed it.
“Lucia's childhood nanny,” Vincent said.
I stared at him.
“That can't be coincidence.”
“No.”
“Did you know she lived there?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“I believed she moved to Florida after Lucia died.”
“Why would your wife leave her a message?”
“We don't know that she did. The note said to find the woman at that address. Margaret may have been the woman.”
“Then why hide the note?”
Vincent looked toward Mia.
“Because Lucia was afraid of someone.”
That changed everything.
“Was the accident really an accident?”
His silence answered me.
For five years, Vincent explained, he'd believed so.
Lucia had been driving Sofia home from preschool when a truck crossed the center line.
The driver died too.
Police found no evidence of sabotage.
Vincent had spent millions trying to prove otherwise.
Eventually even he had accepted the official conclusion.
Until now.
“What did Mrs. Bell know?”
“We're finding out.”
The next morning Vincent drove to my apartment personally.
I wasn't invited.
I went anyway.
“You're impossible,” he muttered when I climbed into his SUV.
“You're searching my home.”
“Former home, temporarily.”
“Still mine.”
Mia remained at the estate with Claire and enough security to protect a head of state.
At Brook Street, Vincent's men searched every room.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
“Mrs. Bell left furniture in the basement.”
We went downstairs.
Against the far wall stood an old cedar chest my landlord had told me never to throw away.
Renzo forced the rusted lock.
Inside were blankets, photographs, and children's books.
At the bottom lay a small metal box.
Vincent opened it.
There were photographs of Lucia as a child.
Letters.
A silver bracelet.
And a USB drive.
Renzo found a laptop.
The drive contained one video.
Lucia appeared on screen.
Vincent stopped breathing.
She was sitting inside a car.
“If you're watching this,” she said, “I failed.”
Vincent gripped the table.
Lucia continued.
“Vince, there is someone inside your organization working with the Marcelli family. I don't know who. I found payments hidden through the foundation accounts. I told Margaret because she's the only person I trust who isn't connected to your business.”
Vincent's face became stone.
“I copied everything. Margaret knows where.”
Lucia looked over her shoulder.
Then back at the camera.
“Don't trust anyone simply because he's been beside you a long time.”
The video ended.
Renzo whispered, “Jesus.”
Vincent looked at him.
For one terrible second, I understood the implication.
Renzo had been beside him for sixteen years.
He understood too.
“You think it's me?”
Vincent didn't answer.
Renzo's expression changed.
Not anger.
Pain.
“After everything?”
“I don't know what to think.”
Renzo walked out.
I turned on Vincent.
“That was cruel.”
“You don't understand my world.”
“No. But I understand what it looks like when someone is hurt.”
His eyes hardened.
“And that's useful?”
“Sometimes more useful than being frightening.”
He almost responded.
Then gunfire exploded outside.
Vincent slammed me to the floor.
Glass shattered above us.
His body covered mine.
Men shouted.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Vincent lifted his head.
“You hit?”
“No.”
Blood appeared on his sleeve.
“You are.”
“Scratch.”
It wasn't.
A bullet had cut across his upper arm.
Renzo came running back downstairs with a gun.
“I got the shooter.”
Vincent looked at him.
The distrust from seconds earlier vanished.
Renzo tore off his tie and wrapped Vincent's arm.
“Next time you decide I'm a traitor, wait until after I save your life.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Then Renzo's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed immediately.
“What?”
Vincent stood.
Renzo looked at both of us.
“The estate alarm went off.”
My blood went cold.
“Mia.”
“The guards have her,” Renzo said quickly.
Then he listened again.
“No.”
“What?” Vincent demanded.
Renzo lowered the phone.
“Claire is gone.”
My knees weakened.
“And Mia?”
May you like
Renzo stared at me.
“Mia's gone too.”
