Chapter 5 - The Ghost of Maria
Vincent carried the woman,
Elena Martinez,
down the stairs himself.
He didn't trust anyone else to be gentle enough,
and he felt a strange,
compelling need to be the one to protect her.
She was light,
far too light,
and he could feel the tremors running through her thin frame.
When they reached the street,
the rain had turned into a soft mist,
clinging to the car windows like tears.
Sophie saw them coming and scrambled out of the Cadillac,
ignoring Marco's attempt to stop her.
"Mama!"
she cried,
her voice echoing through the empty street.
Vincent lowered Elena into the back seat,
allowing Sophie to crawl in beside her.
The girl hugged her mother’s waist,
burying her face in her lap,
sobbing with a mixture of grief and relief.
Vincent stood by the open door,
watching them,
and for a moment,
the city around him vanished.
He wasn't in a Chicago slum in the middle of the night.
He was back in that alleyway thirty years ago,
holding Maria’s cold hand,
waiting for an ambulance that came too late.
The same smell of rain.
The same feeling of helplessness.
But this time,
the ending was different.
This time,
the mother was breathing.
This time,
the child wasn't alone.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and realized Tony was standing there.
"Boss?"
Tony asked quietly.
"Where to?"
Vincent took a deep breath,
shaking off the ghosts of the past.
"To the clinic on 22nd,"
he said.
"The one owned by Dr. Aris."
"Tell him if she doesn't get the best care in the world,"
"I’ll burn his medical license in front of him."
Tony nodded and climbed into the driver's seat.
Vincent sat in the front,
staring straight ahead,
his jaw set in a hard line.
The city was quiet,
unaware of the shift that had just occurred in its underworld.
But Vincent knew.
He had broken his own cardinal rule.
He had let someone in.
He had allowed a crack to form in his armor,
and he knew that from this moment on,
everything would change.
He looked in the rearview mirror,
seeing Sophie whispering to her mother,
and he felt a strange,
forgotten warmth in his chest.
It wasn't power.
It wasn't wealth.
May you like
It was something far more dangerous.
It was purpose.
