Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Took the Waitress to His Fortress for Protection—Then She Found Her Dead Father’s Name Hidden Inside a Ledger That Proved Someone in Vincent’s Family Had Betrayed Them BothI refused Vincent's house.
Immediately.
“No.”
We stood inside the private treatment room of a hospital Vincent apparently considered trustworthy.
My wrist had been cleaned and bandaged.
The substance had caused a chemical burn but hadn't entered my bloodstream in a dangerous quantity.
That was the good news.
The bad news was everything else.
Vincent folded his arms.
“You cannot go home.”
“I can.”
“Someone fired into the restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“After leaving a photograph of your father.”
“Yes.”
“And threatened both our families.”
“Yes.”
“So you're going home?”
“Yes.”
He stared.
“You have a remarkable relationship with logic.”
“I have a remarkable relationship with men telling me what I'm allowed to do.”
Something changed in his face.
He lowered his arms.
“Fair.”
Grant entered.
“We found the shooter’s exit route. Stolen vehicle two blocks east.”
“Arthur?”
“Cooperating.”
“Daniel?”
“Still missing.”
Vincent looked toward me.
“What about Lily?”
My stomach dropped.
Grant answered carefully.
“My men reached the dance studio before pickup.”
I stood.
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“With your neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez.”
“You sent armed men to my niece's dance class?”
“They stayed outside.”
I looked at Vincent.
“Are you insane?”
“Frequently accused.”
“You could terrify her.”
“I told Grant not to approach unless necessary.”
Grant nodded.
“Mrs. Alvarez picked her up normally. Two of my people followed from a distance.”
I exhaled.
Lily was nine.
My sister Rebecca had died four years earlier after a sudden brain aneurysm.
Lily's father had disappeared before she was born.
I became guardian at twenty-eight.
Everything in my life had reorganized around that child.
I couldn't bring danger home.
Vincent knew it.
“You don't have to stay with me.”
“Good.”
“But Lily shouldn't sleep at your apartment tonight.”
I hated that he was right.
“What do you suggest?”
“Hotel.”
“No.”
“Safe apartment.”
“No.”
“Convent?”
I stared.
He shrugged.
“I'm running out of options.”
Grant looked away.
I sighed.
“Your house.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“I'm sorry?”
“Don't make me repeat it.”
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
“Lily gets her own room.”
“Obviously.”
“No armed guards inside her room.”
“Obviously.”
“No telling her who you are.”
He paused.
“What exactly do you think I plan to say?”
“Hello, Lily. I'm Vincent Hale, suspected organized crime lord.”
His mouth twitched.
“I was thinking businessman.”
“That's technically true.”
“So is suspected.”
Grant coughed.
Vincent sighed.
“Are you always like this?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
We collected Lily.
I told her the pipes in our building had broken.
I hated lying.
But “someone tried to poison a suspected crime boss at my workplace using the same chemical connected to Grandpa's mysterious death” felt inappropriate before bedtime.
Vincent's home stood behind iron gates in Lake Forest.
Calling it a house was ridiculous.
It was stone, glass, security cameras, gardens, and enough square footage to contain my entire apartment building.
Lily stared from the SUV.
“Is this a castle?”
“No.”
Vincent answered from the front.
“It has a gate.”
“Lots of houses have gates.”
“It has guards.”
“Security.”
“Is there a dungeon?”
Grant turned around.
“Yes.”
Vincent glared at him.
Lily's eyes widened.
“Really?”
“No,” Vincent said.
Grant smiled.
“Not anymore.”
“Grant.”
I covered my mouth to hide my laugh.
For the first time that night, Lily relaxed.
That made me like Grant.
Slightly.
Inside, a woman in her sixties introduced herself as Rosa and immediately took Lily toward the kitchen after hearing she hadn't eaten dinner.
Vincent showed me a guest suite.
“You can lock it from inside.”
“Can you unlock it from outside?”
“Yes.”
“Then it isn't much of a lock.”
He stopped.
“The emergency override can be disabled.”
“Please.”
He called someone immediately.
No argument.
Ten minutes later, the override was disconnected.
That small thing unsettled me more than if he'd fought.
I had expected Vincent Hale to be controlling.
Instead, every time I drew a clear line, he seemed to study it.
Then respect it.
At midnight, I found him in his library.
The photograph from the restaurant lay on his desk.
“You knew my father.”
“I met him.”
“That isn't what Arthur said.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Your father worked for Northstar Laboratories.”
“You owned Northstar?”
“My family did.”
“Which means you did.”
“I was thirty.”
“And?”
“And my father controlled the company.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
I hadn't expected agreement.
“What did Northstar make?”
“Officially? Agricultural compounds, industrial solvents, chemical preservatives.”
“Unofficially?”
“I didn't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
He looked at the photograph.
“But it's true.”
“Who was Adrian?”
“My brother.”
“Younger?”
“Older. Five years.”
“What happened?”
“His car left the road outside Milwaukee.”
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“Two months after my father died.”
“Yes.”
“Did you investigate?”
“Obsessively.”
“And?”
“Brakes failed.”
“Accident?”
“I believed so.”
“Until tonight.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the picture.
My father seemed nervous.
Adrian Hale was smiling.
Vincent wasn't.
“What were you doing there?”
“Confronting Adrian.”
“About?”
“He had been moving money through Northstar.”
“For what?”
“I didn't know.”
“And now?”
Vincent opened a drawer.
Inside was an old leather ledger.
“I think I do.”
He placed it before me.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father's safe.”
“When?”
“After he died.”
“You've had it eleven years?”
“I thought it documented Adrian stealing.”
“And it doesn't?”
“Look.”
Rows of payments.
Initials.
Dates.
Northstar.
Contractors.
Shell companies.
Then I saw it.
T.B.
Thomas Brooks.
My father.
Not receiving money.
Annotating transactions.
Red circles.
Questions.
Warnings.
My throat tightened.
“That handwriting is his.”
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
I touched the edge of the page.
Not the ink.
My father had touched this.
Eleven years ago.
Alive.
Vincent turned several pages.
A folded note fell out.
I opened it.
V—
If Adrian is right, someone is using Northstar to manufacture compounds for private clients. He believes your father knows. I found three batches missing from inventory. One is designated NR-17. Never touch it directly. It reacts with damaged skin and can cause cardiac collapse if ingested at sufficient concentration.
T. Brooks
I couldn't breathe.
NR-17.
The sauce.
Vincent read silently.
“My father warned you.”
“Yes.”
“But you never saw this?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“The ledger was sealed in my father's safe. I didn't open it until after his death.”
“When did he die?”
“Eight years ago.”
Three years after Thomas.
“So whoever poisoned you used something developed eleven years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
Vincent's gaze hardened.
“Because someone thinks I found what your father and Adrian discovered.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
A phone rang.
Grant entered.
“We have Daniel.”
Arthur's son.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
“Where?”
“Police found him in a storage unit near Cicero after an anonymous call.”
Vincent frowned.
“Anonymous?”
“Male voice. Burner phone.”
“Condition?”
“Dehydrated. Bruised. Alive.”
“Arthur?”
“On his way to the hospital under police supervision.”
I smiled despite everything.
Daniel was alive.
Then Grant looked at me.
“But we found something else.”
“What?”
“Daniel says his kidnappers argued.”
“About?”
“Whether Mara was supposed to be working tonight.”
My smile disappeared.
Grant continued.
“One of them said, ‘Brooks wasn't part of the plan.’”
Vincent stood.
“That means the poisoning wasn't designed around her.”
“No.”
Grant looked grim.
“But after she stopped it, someone recognized her.”
The photograph.
The message.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
Vincent noticed.
“Mara.”
“I'm fine.”
“No, you're not.”
“Stop telling me what I am.”
He paused.
“You're right.”
That made me angrier for some reason.
“Why are you being reasonable?”
His eyebrows rose.
“Would you prefer I wasn't?”
“It would make you easier to hate.”
Something warm entered his expression.
“I'm sorry to disappoint you.”
I looked away.
At two in the morning, Lily woke from a nightmare.
I sat beside her until she slept.
When I stepped into the hallway, Vincent was standing twenty feet away.
He hadn't approached.
“How long have you been there?”
“Five minutes.”
“Why?”
“I heard her crying.”
“She has nightmares sometimes.”
“About her mother?”
I stiffened.
“How do you know?”
“Grant ran your background.”
“Of course he did.”
Vincent looked almost apologetic.
“My sister died suddenly.”
“Yes.”
“Lily found her.”
His expression softened.
“Yes.”
“She was five.”
“I'm sorry.”
I leaned against the wall.
“People say that.”
“It's usually inadequate.”
“Yes.”
He was quiet.
“My mother died when I was nine.”
I looked at him.
“I didn't know.”
“Most people don't.”
“What happened?”
“Cancer.”
“And your father?”
“Responded by becoming harder.”
“And you?”
Vincent considered it.
“I learned from him.”
“That sounds sad.”
“It was useful.”
“Useful isn't the same as good.”
His eyes met mine.
“No.”
Something passed between us.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition, maybe.
Two people who had survived by becoming useful.
Before either of us could say more, Grant appeared at the end of the hallway.
“Vincent.”
The tone changed everything.
“What?”
“We identified the anonymous caller who led police to Daniel.”
“Who?”
Grant handed him a photograph.
Vincent stared at it.
Then sat down.
Actually sat.
I had never seen him look shocked.
“Who is it?”
He gave me the picture.
An older man leaving a convenience store.
Gray hair.
Baseball cap.
Scar along his jaw.
I didn't know him.
Vincent did.
“His name is Adrian Hale.”
I stared.
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“The brother who died eleven years ago?”
“Yes.”
Grant nodded.
“Facial recognition puts probability above ninety-seven percent.”
I looked between them.
“That isn't possible.”
Vincent's voice was barely audible.
“No.”
Then his phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No greeting.
A man's voice filled the speaker.
“Hello, little brother.”
Vincent went completely still.
“Adrian.”
I heard a soft laugh.
“You always were difficult to surprise.”
“You're dead.”
“Clearly not.”
“Where are you?”
“Not yet.”
“Why did you save Daniel?”
“Because the boy wasn't supposed to die.”
“Who poisoned me?”
Silence.
Then:
“Ask Grant.”
My head snapped toward the security chief.
Grant's face emptied.
Vincent slowly looked at the man who had protected him for fourteen years.
The voice continued.
“Ask your loyal dog what happened at Northstar the night Thomas Brooks died.”
The call ended.
Nobody moved.
Vincent stared at Grant.
“Tell me he's lying.”
Grant didn't.
Instead, he removed his gun.
Placed it carefully on the floor.
And raised both hands.
Mara's heart pounded.
Vincent's voice became colder than anything I'd heard before.
“What did you do?”
Grant looked at me.
May you like
Then Vincent.
“I was there the night Thomas Brooks died.”
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