Chapter 4 - The Blood on His Shirt
Harper helped Vincent into the kitchen.
He insisted he was fine.
He was not.
A deep cut ran along his side.
Not life-threatening.
But bad enough to make his hand shake.
“You need a doctor.”
“No.”
“You're bleeding through the shirt.”
“No hospital.”
“Why?”
“They ask questions.”
“So call a private doctor.”
“No.”
Harper stared at him.
“You're impossible.”
“I've been called worse.”
She cleaned the wound herself.
Vincent sat still.
His jaw remained tight as she disinfected the cut.
“What happened?”
“A negotiation.”
“That involved blood?”
“Yes.”
“Your negotiation style needs work.”
He almost smiled.
She noticed.
“You did it again.”
“What?”
“Almost smiled.”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
He looked away.
She continued bandaging him.
Then she noticed a scar near his ribs.
Another on his shoulder.
One across his abdomen.
How many fights had this man survived?
“How old were you when you got this?”
“Seventeen.”
She looked at him.
“You were a kid.”
“So were you.”
His answer hit differently.
When she finished, Vincent stood.
“Thank you.”
Harper looked at him.
“You don't have to thank me.”
“Yes.”
He walked away.
She watched him disappear.
That night, neither slept.
Harper couldn't stop thinking about the blood.
Vincent couldn't stop thinking about Harper's hands.
At breakfast, Lily entered wearing pajamas.
“Are you two fighting?”
“No,” they said simultaneously.
Lily looked between them.
“You're weird.”
She ate cereal.
Harper looked at Vincent.
He raised an eyebrow.
The day became busy.
Then a lawyer arrived.
His name was Theodore Grant.
He was Vincent's attorney.
He was elegant, precise, and visibly suspicious of Harper.
He placed a folder in front of Vincent.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“The prosecution has discovered the marriage.”
Harper's stomach dropped.
Theodore continued.
“They will argue that the marriage is fraudulent.”
“It isn't.”
“They don't know that.”
Vincent's eyes hardened.
“They will have to prove it.”
Theodore looked at Harper.
“They will also investigate her family.”
Harper frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your uncle Richard has a financial interest in Lily's trust.”
She stared.
“I know.”
“No,” Theodore said quietly. “You don't know everything.”
He opened another file.
Richard had borrowed money from a private lender six years earlier.
The lender's name appeared on the page.
Silas Kane.
Vincent stood.
“Where is Richard?”
“We don't know.”
Harper felt a chill.
“Who is Silas Kane?”
Vincent's face became expressionless.
“My father's former partner.”
“What happened?”
“Twenty years ago, my father betrayed him.”
Harper stared.
“What kind of betrayal?”
“He was supposed to receive half of the business.”
“He didn't?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“My father believed he was dangerous.”
Vincent looked at the papers.
“He was right.”
The family histories were starting to connect.
Richard.
Lily's trust.
Silas Kane.
Vincent's father.
Harper's mother's death.
Too many coincidences.
That evening, Harper found Lily crying in the garden.
“What's wrong?”
Lily held out a piece of paper.
“Uncle Richard gave me this.”
Harper opened it.
A note.
He had written:
Ask Harper why Mom kept Vincent Romano's picture.
Harper stared.
Lily looked confused.
“What does it mean?”
“I don't know.”
But Harper did.
The photo.
She had never seen Vincent before their diner encounter.
Yet the note implied Lily's mother had known him.
She searched her apartment boxes.
Old documents.
Photographs.
Letters.
Nothing.
Then she found a small envelope hidden inside her mother's sewing box.
On the front were three words.
FOR HARPER ONLY.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Her mother stood beside Vincent's father.
And beside them stood Silas Kane.
Harper's mother had known them.
Not only known them.
She had been part of something.
The back of the photograph contained a date.
Twenty-five years earlier.
Harper calculated.
She hadn't even been born.
She took the photo downstairs.
Vincent stared at it.
His face emptied.
“Where did you get this?”
“My mother's things.”
He took it carefully.
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“And Silas.”
“Yes.”
“What does this mean?”
Vincent looked at the photograph.
“I don't know.”
For the first time, Harper believed him completely.
Then the front gate alarm screamed.
Security rushed in.
Marco shouted.
“Everyone down!”
Gunfire cracked outside.
Lily screamed.
Vincent grabbed Harper and pushed her behind the marble island.
Glass shattered.
Bullets hit the wall.
Vincent drew his weapon.
Harper clutched Lily.
A minute later, silence.
Marco returned.
“Three men. They escaped.”
Vincent turned toward Harper.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He looked at Lily.
She was crying.
Vincent knelt.
“Hey.”
She looked at him.
“You’re safe.”
“Are they coming back?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Because now they know what I’m willing to do.”
Harper watched him.
The man before her was terrifying.
But his first instinct had been to protect Lily.
And that changed something.
Later that night, after Lily fell asleep, Harper found Vincent alone on the terrace.
“You saved us.”
“I should have prevented it.”
“You can't prevent everything.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No.”
He turned toward her.
“That's where you're wrong.”
She stepped closer.
“You don't have to carry everything alone.”
His expression changed.
“You don't know what you're offering.”
“Maybe I do.”
The distance between them disappeared.
For one dangerous second, neither moved.
Then Vincent whispered,
“Harper, this is fake.”
“I know.”
“You can't forget that.”
“I know.”
He stepped back.
May you like
“Good.”
But neither of them believed the word anymore.
