Chapter 6 - A Bullet Meant for Vincent
The man from the house refused to talk after that.
Vincent turned him over to a lawyer and, eventually, to federal investigators already watching several Vale-linked operations. That surprised me.
"I thought Mafia bosses handled things differently," I said.
Vincent stood at the kitchen sink washing blood from his knuckles.
"Sometimes the most frightening thing you can do to a man is give him a court date and twenty years to think."
"That sounds almost respectable."
"Don't ruin my reputation."
We did not sleep.
By dawn, Priya had traced the blackout to a utility contractor bribed with cash. The attackers knew the house location less than two hours after we arrived.
Only five people had known.
Vincent.
Dominic.
Me.
Priya.
And the driver who brought us.
The driver had worked for Marco.
He was gone.
"So Marco is guilty," Dominic said.
"Or Marco's entire network is compromised," I replied.
Dominic rubbed his eyes.
"You really don't like easy answers."
"Easy answers got me a fake boyfriend and a burned apartment."
He nodded.
"Fair."
We moved again, this time to a hotel owned by one of Vincent's legitimate companies. The entire top floor was closed for "renovation." I was given a room across from Vincent's.
By then, my seven dollars were still in my pocket.
I found them that afternoon when I changed clothes.
Five singles and two crumpled ones.
I sat on the edge of the bed staring at them.
Four days earlier, seven dollars had been the measurement of my entire future.
Now I was surrounded by security, lawyers, encrypted files, and men whose watches cost more than my old car.
Yet the seven dollars felt more real than any of it.
A knock came at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Vincent."
I opened it.
He held a paper bag.
"Food."
"Again?"
"Doctor Ruiz threatened me."
"You are definitely afraid of her."
"More than Vale."
We ate sandwiches at the small table by the window.
For several minutes, neither of us discussed death threats, missing keys, traitors, or fake identities.
It felt almost normal.
Then Vincent saw the seven dollars beside my phone.
"Is that all you had?"
I followed his gaze.
"When you met me? Yes."
His face tightened.
"Why didn't you ask anyone for help?"
I laughed softly.
"Who? David took the joint account. My closest friend moved to Seattle. My mother died three years ago. My dad has been gone since I was fourteen. I stopped talking to my aunt after she told me David was too charming to trust and I got defensive."
"She was right."
"Thank you for the emotional support."
"Sorry."
I smiled despite myself.
Vincent picked up one of the bills, then put it back exactly where it had been.
"I could replace what he stole."
The smile vanished.
"No."
"I didn't mean-"
"I know what you meant. But no."
He nodded.
"Okay."
"I need to rebuild it myself."
"Okay."
"You're not going to argue?"
"You seem disappointed."
"I'm suspicious."
"Good. Stay that way."
I looked at him.
"Why are you helping me? Really?"
His gaze went toward the city.
"At first? Because someone used my name to hurt you. That made it my responsibility."
"And now?"
He was quiet long enough that my heartbeat changed.
"Now it's not only responsibility."
I should have looked away.
I didn't.
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is."
A knock interrupted us.
Dominic entered without waiting.
"I have news, and you're both making faces I don't want explained."
I nearly choked on my drink.
Vincent looked murderous.
Dominic enjoyed that far too much.
"Priya found the storage key provider. Box 219 is active. Whoever rented it renewed the account eleven days ago."
"In Washington?" I asked.
"Yes."
"David?"
"Maybe."
"We go get it," Vincent said.
Dominic shook his head.
"Too obvious. Vale is watching transportation. Marco may be watching everything else."
"Then we send counsel."
"Already did. The company requires Rowan in person because the account is in her name."
Of course it did.
My identity had become both the lock and the key.
Vincent did not like it.
I could tell by the way his jaw tightened.
"I go," I said.
"No."
"There it is. I was wondering when you'd stop pretending I get a vote."
"You were shot at yesterday."
"Technically, you were shot at. I was just under you."
Dominic looked between us.
"Again, sentences I do not need explained."
"Get out," Vincent said.
Dominic grinned and left.
I folded my arms.
"If the box is in my name, nobody can retrieve it without me."
"Then it stays there."
"And Vale keeps killing people while we wait?"
Vincent stood.
"I am not trading your life for evidence."
"It is my life."
"Exactly."
"Then let me decide what risks I take with it."
He stared at me.
The argument changed shape.
I saw him realize it.
He had spent years controlling danger because control kept people alive. I had spent years surrendering choices because I mistook someone else's control for love.
If he forced me now, even to protect me, he would become one more man deciding what was best for me.
Vincent looked away first.
"We do it carefully."
"Thank you."
"I still hate it."
"You can hate it on the train."
"We're not taking a train."
"Private jet?"
"Car. Less visible."
"Fine. You can hate it on I-95."
We never made it to Washington that day.
At six in the evening, Dominic received a message from an old Moretti restaurant in Queens. Someone claiming to be David wanted to meet.
One hour.
No police.
Bring Vincent.
"Trap," I said.
"Obviously," Dominic replied.
Vincent read the message again.
"He wouldn't use that restaurant by accident."
"Why?"
"My father used to eat there every Sunday. Vale knows it."
"Then it's definitely a trap."
"Yes."
"You're going anyway."
"Yes."
I stood.
"Then so am I."
"Absolutely not."
"David contacted me. This is about my key, my name, my stolen money-"
"And my father."
The force in Vincent's voice stopped me.
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he looked exhausted.
"Please, Rowan. Not this time."
It was the please that changed my answer.
Not an order.
Not control.
Fear.
"Fine," I said. "I stay in the car."
"At the hotel."
"Car."
"Rowan."
"Car. That's my compromise."
He stared at me.
"You negotiate like a hostage attorney."
"And you negotiate like a man who has never heard no enough."
Dominic coughed into his fist.
Vincent surrendered.
The restaurant was closed when we arrived.
Rain had started, turning the street into mirrors.
I stayed in the armored SUV across the street with two security men. Vincent and Dominic entered through the front.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Nothing.
I watched the restaurant windows.
A waiter appeared inside.
White shirt. Black vest.
He walked toward the rear dining room carrying a tray.
Something bothered me.
I leaned forward.
"Is the restaurant open?"
The driver shook his head.
"No, ma'am. Staff were cleared an hour ago."
"Then who's that?"
He looked.
The waiter's face turned slightly toward the window.
My blood froze.
I knew him.
He was one of the men who had come to my apartment Monday.
The one who stood by the door while the other man slammed me into the wall.
"That's him."
"Who?"
"The collector."
I opened my door.
The security man grabbed my arm.
I screamed.
"Vincent!"
The sound vanished into rain and glass.
I grabbed the driver's radio.
"The waiter is one of the men who attacked me! Get them out!"
Inside the restaurant, everything happened at once.
A shadow moved behind the kitchen door.
The fake waiter dropped the tray.
Vincent turned.
A flash split the window.
I heard the shot a fraction of a second later.
Dominic stepped between Vincent and the kitchen.
His body jerked.
He fell.
"No!"
I was out of the vehicle before anyone could stop me.
Security rushed the restaurant.
Another shot shattered glass over my head.
Someone dragged me behind a parked car.
I fought until I recognized Vincent's voice shouting my name.
Then I saw him through the broken window on his knees beside Dominic.
Blood spread across Dominic's white shirt near the shoulder.
Vincent's hands were covered in it.
"Stay with me," Vincent said.
Dominic's face was gray.
"You're welcome."
"Don't talk."
"You'd miss me."
"Shut up."
Sirens approached.
The fake waiter had escaped through the back.
Dominic survived.
The bullet passed through his upper shoulder without striking an artery. Doctor Ruiz called it "the luckiest stupid thing either Moretti brother had done all year."
At the hospital, Vincent stood alone at the end of a quiet corridor.
His shirt was still stained with his brother's blood.
I walked toward him.
"He's going to be okay."
"I know."
But he did not sound like he knew anything.
"Vincent."
He looked at me.
All the control was gone.
"That bullet was mine."
"Dominic chose to move."
"Because of me."
"Because he loves you."
His eyes closed.
"Everyone who gets close to me bleeds."
I thought about my burned apartment, my ribs, my stolen money.
Then I thought about the drunk in the bar and the way Vincent had waited for permission before sitting beside me.
"I was bleeding before I met you."
His eyes opened.
"You didn't cause David. You didn't cause Vale. You didn't put that bruise on my face."
"But I brought this world closer to you."
"No. David did. Vale did. Maybe Marco did. Stop taking credit for other men's choices."
He almost smiled.
"You say that like you've practiced it."
"I'm trying to."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Vincent lifted one hand toward my face and stopped.
"Can I?"
My heart pounded.
"Yes."
His fingers touched my cheek.
Gentle.
Careful.
He leaned closer, but he still did not kiss me.
He waited.
I was the one who closed the distance.
The kiss was brief and trembling and completely wrong for a hospital corridor after a shooting.
It was also the first choice that had felt entirely mine in a long time.
When we pulled apart, Vincent rested his forehead against mine.
"This is a terrible idea," he whispered.
"Probably."
"You should stay away from me."
"I tried staying away from dangerous men. One moved into my apartment and stole my car. My judgment is clearly broken."
He laughed quietly.
Then my phone buzzed.
One text.
From David.
YOU SAW WHAT THEY CAN DO.
COME ALONE TOMORROW OR VINCENT DIES NEXT.
Beneath it was an address.
And a photograph taken less than sixty seconds earlier.
May you like
Vincent and me kissing in the hospital corridor.
Someone was watching us.
