Chapter 7 - The Night Vincent Chose Me
By seven thirty that evening, I had made the most reckless decision of my life.
I was going to walk into a trap.
Vincent hated the idea.
Marco hated it more.
Dr. Lena Brooks called it a catastrophe waiting to happen.
But I had heard Bianca Moretti's voice.
I had heard her mention my father.
And for the first time in seventeen years, I had a reason to believe he might be alive.
I wasn't going to sit safely behind stone walls while someone else decided whether I deserved the truth.
Vincent stood in his office, arms crossed.
“No.”
I stared at him.
“That's not a negotiation.”
“Neither is my answer.”
“Vincent—”
“Evelyn, they tried to kill you yesterday.”
“They tried to frighten us.”
“Those bullets were real.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer.
“Do you?”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Yes.”
The room fell silent.
Then I said something that surprised both of us.
“You keep telling me you're protecting me. But everyone who has ever lied to me used that excuse.”
Vincent's expression changed.
I continued.
“My mother protected me by letting me believe my father was dead. Rachel protected me by disappearing. My father protected me by leaving.”
My voice broke.
“I'm thirty years old, Vincent. I deserve to make my own decisions.”
He stared at me.
Then slowly lowered his arms.
“You're right.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You're right.”
I almost laughed.
“That was suspiciously easy.”
“It wasn't.”
He looked exhausted.
“I don't want you anywhere near Bianca Moretti. But I also don't want to become another man who decides your life for you.”
I swallowed.
“Then help me.”
Vincent studied me.
Finally, he nodded.
“We do it intelligently.”
Marco stepped forward.
“We can coordinate with federal authorities.”
I looked at him.
“The FBI?”
Vincent nodded.
“Daniel's files provide evidence of major financial crimes. We've already contacted an attorney who can arrange secure contact with the appropriate investigators.”
“You trust them?”
“Not automatically.”
He glanced at the folder containing my father's records.
“But we've identified agents who weren't connected to the old investigation.”
Over the next hour, a plan took shape.
I would enter the conservatory.
Vincent would accompany me.
We would bring a copy of the necklace's contents, but not the original evidence.
A federal team would monitor the building from outside.
And if Bianca attempted to move us somewhere else, we would refuse.
It sounded reasonable.
It sounded safe.
It was neither.
At eight fifteen, we arrived at the old Harrington Conservatory.
The building stood on a neglected estate beyond the city.
Once, it had been famous for weddings.
Now its glass walls were cracked.
Vines climbed the iron framework.
Moonlight filtered through broken panes.
I wore black pants, boots, and a fitted jacket.
Vincent wore a dark suit.
He looked like the sort of man who could buy the entire property just to tear it down.
At the entrance, he stopped me.
“Evelyn.”
I looked up.
“What?”
He reached into his pocket.
For one absurd second, I thought he was about to produce another sandwich.
Instead, he handed me a small silver whistle.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“Something you can use if you get separated from me and your phone fails.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“A whistle?”
“Humor me.”
I put it in my pocket.
Then he touched my cheek.
“There's something I need you to understand.”
“What?”
“If this goes wrong, you do what Marco tells you.”
“Vincent—”
“Please.”
The word stopped me.
This man didn't sound like someone who said please often.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
He exhaled.
Then, unexpectedly, he leaned down and kissed my forehead.
My heart stumbled.
“Let's go find your father,” he whispered.
Inside, the conservatory smelled of wet stone and decaying plants.
Rows of empty planters lined the central aisle.
A long table stood beneath a rusted chandelier.
At its far end waited Bianca Moretti.
She wore a white coat over a red dress.
Her blond hair was perfectly styled.
Even here, surrounded by broken glass and dead vines, she looked ready for a magazine cover.
“Vincent,” she said warmly.
He didn't respond.
Her smile tightened.
“Still rude, I see.”
“Where are they?”
Bianca looked at me.
“Evelyn Hartwell.”
I held her gaze.
“Where's my mother?”
She gestured toward a side door.
Two men entered.
Between them walked Margaret Hartwell.
My mother.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was loose.
There was a bruise on one wrist.
But she was alive.
“Mom!”
I moved forward.
Vincent caught my hand.
“Wait.”
My mother shook her head frantically.
“Evelyn, don't!”
One of the men tightened his grip.
Bianca sighed.
“Margaret, please. You're ruining the reunion.”
I glared at her.
“Let her go.”
“Soon.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“Bianca, whatever agreement you think you're making, it ends tonight.”
She laughed.
“Always so dramatic.”
“Where's Samuel?”
“Busy.”
“Where's Daniel?”
Bianca's smile faded.
“Ah. The real question.”
My heart hammered.
“Is my father alive?”
She studied me.
Then said, “For now.”
I nearly collapsed.
Vincent's hand tightened around mine.
“Show us,” he demanded.
Bianca nodded toward a second door.
It opened.
A man entered slowly.
He was thin.
His shoulders were stooped.
His hair was mostly gray.
A short beard covered his face.
He walked with a cane.
For one terrible moment, I didn't recognize him.
Then he lifted his head.
And I saw his eyes.
My father's eyes.
The same warm brown eyes that had watched me ride my first bicycle.
The same eyes that crinkled when he laughed.
The same eyes I'd seen in photographs for seventeen years.
My breath left my body.
“Daddy?”
The man stopped.
His cane slipped from his hand.
He stared at me.
Then his face crumpled.
“Evie?”
I made a sound I didn't recognize.
Something between a sob and a scream.
I tried to run.
Vincent caught me again.
The guards near my father shifted.
Bianca raised one hand.
“Careful.”
I stared at her.
“Please.”
The word tore out of me.
“Please let me hug him.”
For a moment, Bianca looked almost uncomfortable.
Then her expression hardened.
“After the exchange.”
I turned toward Vincent.
He was staring at my father.
His face had gone pale.
“Daniel?”
My father looked at him.
Recognition crossed his face.
“Vincent?”
Vincent swallowed.
“You're alive.”
My father gave a broken smile.
“You got tall.”
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
Instead, I began crying harder.
Bianca clapped her hands once.
“How touching.”
Vincent's expression changed instantly.
“Enough.”
He reached into his jacket and placed a small memory drive on the table.
“Here's what you came for.”
Bianca stared at it.
“The original?”
“A verified copy of the contents.”
Her smile vanished.
“I said the original.”
“You can verify the files.”
“That wasn't the agreement.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Neither was kidnapping two people.”
The men beside my parents shifted.
Bianca looked toward the entrance.
Then smiled.
“You always did think you could control everything.”
Vincent said nothing.
She continued.
“Your father made the same mistake.”
The words seemed to strike him.
“What did you say?”
Bianca stepped closer.
“Alessandro Marino thought he could use Samuel Voss and then discard him. He thought nobody would expose what he'd done.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“My father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“And you're about to tell me why.”
Bianca smiled.
“Because Carlo Moretti spent twenty years waiting to take what your family stole from his.”
Suddenly, the lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the conservatory.
Someone shouted.
A door slammed.
I heard glass shatter.
Then a gunshot.
Vincent grabbed me and pulled me behind a stone planter.
“Stay down!”
I heard my mother scream.
“Daniel!”
Another shot cracked through the darkness.
My father's voice shouted my name.
I tried to stand.
Vincent held me down.
“Evelyn!”
“That's my father!”
“I know!”
Footsteps thundered across the floor.
A flashlight swept through the room.
Then someone grabbed my arm.
Not Vincent.
A stranger.
I screamed.
Vincent spun.
A violent struggle followed.
I fell hard against the stone floor.
The stranger staggered backward.
Vincent pulled me behind him.
“Run to Marco!” he shouted.
I hesitated.
Then saw blood spreading across his shirt.
My stomach dropped.
“Vincent!”
“Go!”
A security alarm shrieked outside.
I heard voices identifying themselves as federal agents.
The side doors burst open.
Flashlights flooded the building.
Bianca shouted something unintelligible.
Then a man grabbed her and forced her to the ground.
I scrambled toward Vincent.
He was leaning against the planter.
One hand pressed against his side.
Blood stained his white shirt.
“Vincent!”
He looked at me.
Even then, somehow, he managed a crooked smile.
“Sweetheart.”
I dropped beside him.
“Don't you dare.”
He blinked.
“Don't I dare what?”
“Die!”
He looked mildly offended.
“I wasn't planning on it.”
I pressed my hands against the wound.
Tears streamed down my face.
“Then stop bleeding!”
He winced.
“Excellent medical advice.”
“Vincent!”
He caught my wrist.
His expression softened.
“Evelyn.”
I looked at him.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I wasn't looking for you because your father asked me to.”
I froze.
“What?”
He swallowed.
“I was looking for you because I remembered what it felt like when Daniel saved me.”
His fingers tightened around mine.
“And when I saw you at that gala, I knew I couldn't let anyone take you away.”
My chest ached.
“Vincent—”
He gave a faint smile.
“Terrible timing, I know.”
May you like
Then his eyes closed.
And the man who had promised to protect me collapsed in my arms.
