Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO ORDERED THE FIRE
By sunrise, Rico Castellano had made six phone calls.
The first went to Vincent's security chief.
The second went to a private investigator.
The third went to an unregistered number in Milwaukee.
The remaining three were unanswered.
Mary knew none of this when she entered Vincent's recovery room at 9:15 a.m.
He was awake.
Pale.
Connected to monitors.
And staring at the door as though he had been waiting for her for ten years.
"Mary."
She stopped beside his bed.
"Don't try to sit up."
"Come closer."
"No."
His face tightened.
"I need to know you're real."
"I'm your doctor right now, Vincent. That's all."
He stared at her.
"You were seventeen."
"And you were eighteen."
"I buried you."
Mary's expression changed.
"There was no body."
"My father arranged the funeral."
"Your father arranged a lot of things."
Vincent looked away.
For a moment, the terrifying man who controlled Chicago's criminal underworld looked exactly like the frightened boy she remembered.
"I went back," he whispered.
Mary said nothing.
"After the fire. Every night for a week. I searched the ruins myself."
She swallowed.
"Then why did Rico tell me you were engaged?"
Vincent turned sharply.
"What?"
"To Catherine Bellini."
His face went blank.
"Catherine?"
"He brought me a photograph. A note. My necklace."
Vincent's breathing grew shallow.
"Mary, Catherine Bellini married my cousin."
"Not according to Rico."
"I never wrote you a note."
She watched his eyes.
"Then why didn't you find me?"
"Because every record said you were dead."
"Someone knew I wasn't."
Vincent's gaze moved toward the door.
"Rico."
Mary nodded.
"He visited me at the clinic."
Vincent closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the boy was gone.
The crime boss had returned.
"Where is he?"
"Outside."
Vincent reached toward the bedside phone.
Mary caught his wrist.
"Don't."
"He lied to me."
"You're recovering from major surgery."
"He stole ten years."
"Then don't let him steal the rest by making you bleed to death."
For several seconds, Vincent stared at her hand.
Then he whispered, "You still touch me like you're trying to save me."
Mary released him.
"That's my job."
She turned toward the door.
"Mary."
She stopped.
"Did you ever stop loving me?"
Her shoulders stiffened.
"That's not a question you get to ask."
She walked out before he could answer.
That afternoon, Vincent summoned Rico.
The older man entered carrying a leather folder.
"Boss, the hospital's security arrangements are handled. No one gets near you without clearance."
Vincent watched him.
"How long have we known each other?"
Rico smiled.
"Since you were twelve."
"And how many times have you lied to me?"
The smile faded.
"What's this about?"
"Mary Andrews."
Rico's hand tightened around the folder.
"She's alive."
"I noticed."
"Vincent, I can explain."
"Then explain why you visited her after the fire."
Rico went silent.
Vincent's voice remained almost gentle.
"She remembers the lilies."
Rico swallowed.
"Your father sent me."
"To tell her I was engaged?"
"To keep her away."
"Why?"
Rico glanced at the monitors.
"Your father believed she was a threat."
"To what?"
"Everything he'd built."
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"My father died five years ago."
"I know."
"So he's not here to protect you."
Rico took a slow breath.
"Anthony ordered me to make sure she disappeared from your life. He said if you knew she survived, you'd leave Chicago."
Vincent stared at him.
"Did he order the fire?"
Rico's expression changed.
"That's not a question you want answered."
Vincent pressed the call button.
Two guards entered.
"Take his phone," Vincent said.
Rico stepped backward.
"Vincent—"
"His weapons, too."
"You're making a mistake."
"Maybe."
Vincent's eyes hardened.
"But this time it's going to be mine."
The guards escorted Rico away.
What Vincent didn't know was that Rico had already sent a message.
Three words.
The Angel lives.
Across Chicago, in a penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan, a woman received that message while eating breakfast.
Her name was Eleanor Voss.
At fifty-two, Eleanor owned a medical investment firm, two private hospitals, and enough political influence to make state senators return her calls before their wives did.
She read the message twice.
Then she placed her coffee cup down.
A younger man sitting across from her noticed.
"Problem?"
Eleanor looked toward the window.
"A ghost."
The man laughed.
"Should I be worried?"
"Not if we bury it properly."
She opened a locked drawer and removed a photograph.
It showed a younger Anthony Martini standing beside a mechanic outside a warehouse.
The mechanic was Mary's father.
Daniel Andrews.
On the back, written in Anthony's handwriting, were four words.
He knows about the shipments.
Eleanor picked up her phone.
"Find out where Jack Sullivan is living."
Meanwhile, at Harbor Mercy, Mary received a call from Jack.
His voice sounded strained.
"Mary, sweetheart, are you alone?"
"What's wrong?"
"Someone came to the apartment."
Her stomach tightened.
"Who?"
"They asked about the fire."
"Jack, lock your door."
"Listen carefully. There's something I never told you."
A crash sounded through the phone.
Mary stood.
"Jack?"
Heavy footsteps.
A muffled shout.
Then Jack's voice, suddenly distant.
"Don't trust the woman with the silver bracelet!"
The call disconnected.
Mary stared at the screen.
May you like
A moment later, a text appeared from Jack's number.
Come alone if you want him alive.
