Chapter 5 - The Child Who Was Never Supposed to Exist
The official story of Patrick Voss’s death had always been simple.
Heart attack.
Private residence.
Age fifty-seven.
Tragic but natural.
Chicago newspapers printed respectful photographs.
Politicians attended the funeral.
Business leaders praised his contributions to the city.
Declan became head of the family three days later.
But Sean Roarke had seen something else.
Gavin told us after midnight.
He had been nineteen.
Sean seventeen.
Their father worked security for Patrick Voss.
One winter night, Sean went to Voss Tower searching for Gavin.
He walked into a conference room and saw Malcolm Rusk standing over Patrick Voss.
Patrick was alive.
Barely.
A glass sat broken on the floor.
Malcolm held a syringe.
Sean ran.
Malcolm’s people caught him in the parking garage.
Gavin found out hours later.
Malcolm offered a choice.
Sean disappears permanently.
Or Gavin becomes useful.
“What does useful mean?” Declan asked.
Gavin’s face had turned gray.
“It meant I joined your security team.”
I stared.
Declan did too.
“You’ve been working for Malcolm?”
“No.”
Gavin stepped forward.
“I’ve been keeping him convinced I could be controlled.”
“For seventeen years?”
“Yes.”
Declan’s voice rose.
“You let me trust you.”
“I protected you.”
“You lied to me every day.”
“Yes.”
The answer landed brutally.
Declan laughed once.
No humor.
“Was anything real?”
Gavin’s eyes flashed.
“All of it.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Sean was alive.”
“And you thought I wouldn’t protect him?”
“I thought you’d start a war before I could get him out.”
Declan’s silence admitted he probably would have.
Gavin continued.
“I fed Malcolm information that wouldn’t hurt you. Schedules. Business details he already suspected. Enough to keep Sean breathing.”
“And Amelia?”
“Never.”
The answer came fast.
I believed him.
Declan was less certain.
“Did you know she was being watched?”
“No.”
“Pregnancy?”
“No.”
“Her location?”
“I found her first.”
“And Malcolm knew that?”
“No.”
Declan stepped closer.
“Swear.”
Gavin’s eyes hardened.
“On my brother’s life.”
Declan stopped.
Years of friendship stood between them.
Betrayal.
Loyalty.
Fear.
Sometimes all three look identical until somebody finally tells the truth.
I left them to argue.
Savannah followed me to the kitchen.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Reasonable.”
I filled a glass.
She sat across from me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “I knew about you before the engagement.”
I looked up.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“How?”
“Declan refused three arrangements before mine.”
I almost smiled.
“Arrangements?”
“Families like ours have romantic vocabularies written by accountants.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Savannah smiled.
“My father was furious because Declan kept saying no. Then somebody mentioned the art restorer.”
“Malcolm?”
“Probably.”
“What did you think?”
“That you must be extraordinary.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because Declan Voss doesn’t change decisions for people.”
The compliment hurt more than I expected.
Savannah continued.
“When he agreed to the engagement, I assumed you were over.”
“So did I.”
“He looked miserable.”
“That wasn’t visible on television.”
“It was if you were standing five feet away.”
I looked down at my belly.
“Did he ever…”
“No.”
She understood before I finished.
“Declan never touched me.”
Relief came involuntarily.
I hated it.
Savannah noticed.
She pretended not to.
“The engagement was theater.”
“He still agreed.”
“Yes.”
“I still left.”
“Yes.”
“No magical explanation changes that.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You’re very agreeable for someone whose brother wants me dead.”
“My family lowers the standards.”
At 3:00 a.m., I woke from a nightmare.
In it, the baby had no heartbeat.
I was back in Chicago.
The kitchen was cold.
The ultrasound burned.
When I opened my eyes, I was crying.
Someone knocked softly.
“Amelia?”
Declan.
I wiped my face.
“What?”
“You called my name.”
I hadn’t realized.
“Go away.”
Silence.
Then:
“All right.”
His footsteps began moving.
“Wait.”
They stopped.
I hated myself.
“Come in.”
Declan opened the door.
He did not approach the bed.
He sat in a chair across the room.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Nightmare?”
I nodded.
“The baby?”
“She’s fine.”
He waited.
I hated that he knew silence sometimes worked better than questions.
“I dreamed there was no heartbeat.”
His face tightened.
“At the hospital, the doctor said strong heartbeat.”
He looked at me.
“How do you know?”
“I found the appointment record.”
I almost became angry.
Then I saw his expression.
He had memorized the same sentence I had.
Strong heartbeat.
Good sign.
I placed my hand against my stomach.
“She’s okay.”
“Good.”
We remained there in darkness.
Finally, Declan said, “I’m going to end this.”
“What?”
“My organization.”
I stared.
“What do you mean?”
“The criminal side.”
“You can’t just resign from the mafia.”
His mouth twitched.
“That is unfortunately true.”
“So?”
“I can dismantle it.”
“People will kill you.”
“Possibly.”
“That wasn’t permission.”
“I’m not asking.”
The sentence angered me.
He caught himself.
“Sorry.”
Progress.
Barely.
“Why now?” I asked.
He looked toward my stomach.
I immediately shook my head.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Do not make our daughter responsible for redeeming you.”
His eyes returned to mine.
The words hurt him.
Good.
They were supposed to.
“She didn’t create your life,” I said. “She doesn’t owe you a better one.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Declan looked down at his hands.
“Because when you disappeared, I realized everything I had built was powerful enough to find almost anyone except the one person I needed to find.”
He paused.
“And when I discovered you were pregnant, I realized my first thought wasn’t that I had an heir.”
His voice softened.
“It was that my child might someday be afraid when a black SUV stopped near her school.”
My throat tightened.
“I don’t want that.”
“Neither do I.”
“I want her to be ordinary.”
Declan smiled faintly.
“With you as her mother?”
“Rude.”
“You restore four-hundred-year-old paintings.”
“Very ordinary.”
“You once lectured a museum director for forty-five minutes because he used the wrong humidity level.”
“He deserved it.”
Declan smiled.
The real smile.
One side first.
My chest hurt.
He became serious again.
“I can’t undo what I inherited. But I can decide what reaches her.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the dangerous part.
Not fear.
Hope.
By morning, Gavin had arranged extraction for Sean.
Malcolm kept him in a private rehabilitation property near Lake Geneva under another name.
Declan wanted to go personally.
Gavin refused.
“This is my brother.”
“He’s leverage against me too now.”
“No.”
“Gavin—”
“No. For once, trust me.”
Declan nearly laughed at the irony.
Then agreed.
Gavin left with Savannah’s security woman and two Voss men who had no connection to Malcolm.
Before leaving, he spoke privately with me.
“If something happens—”
“Don’t.”
“I need to say it.”
I waited.
“Declan will blame himself for all of this.”
“He should blame himself for some.”
Gavin nodded.
“Agreed.”
I liked him.
He continued.
“But not everything.”
“I know.”
“He loved you before he knew how to do it correctly.”
I looked away.
“That sounds poetic.”
“It’s not. He was terrible at it.”
I laughed.
Gavin smiled.
“He’s learning.”
Then he left.
At noon, we received the first message.
Sean secured.
At 12:18, the second.
Vehicle compromised.
At 12:24, Gavin called Declan.
Gunfire sounded behind him.
“Ambush.”
Declan stood.
“Location?”
“Highway twelve. Northbound.”
“Sean?”
“Alive.”
“Get out.”
“Working on it.”
The call ended.
Declan grabbed his coat.
I followed.
“No.”
His answer was automatic.
I stopped.
He closed his eyes.
“Sorry.”
“Better.”
“I need to go.”
“I know.”
For the first time, I stepped toward him voluntarily.
He looked surprised.
“Come back.”
The words felt terrifying.
His expression changed.
“I will.”
I wanted to kiss him.
I didn’t.
He left.
Three hours later, Gavin returned with blood across his shirt.
Not his.
Sean was alive.
Two Voss men were injured.
Malcolm’s ambush team had failed.
But Sean brought something more important than testimony.
A key.
Small.
Brass.
Patrick Voss had given it to him seventeen years earlier, seconds before Malcolm entered the room.
Sean had kept it hidden inside the lining of his wheelchair.
Nobody knew what it opened.
Declan did.
When he saw the key, he stopped breathing.
“That’s my mother’s bank box.”
The room went silent.
“She died before my father.”
Gavin frowned.
“Then why would Patrick have the key?”
May you like
Declan looked toward me.
“Because my mother knew he was going to be killed.”
