Chapter 5 - Midnight Confessions
I pulled back from his touch, stumbling slightly until my back hit the cold glass of the balcony door. My chest felt hollow, violently pulled between righteous anger and overwhelming grief. All those years I had spent rebuilding myself in Vermont—telling myself that Vincent was a monster who traded twelve years of devotion for a younger, simpler distraction—were based on a horrifying tragedy.
""Why didn't you tell me the truth back then?"" I demanded, my voice breaking. ""We built your empire together, Vincent! When you were getting shot in alleyways during the early days, who patched you up on the kitchen table? Me! I never feared your enemies! We could have fought them together!""
""You were an actress, Claire! You had just won your first major award! You had a clean, brilliant future ahead of you!"" Vincent took a step toward me, his hands outstretched in supplication. ""My world was drowning in blood. The Vance family wasn't playing by the old rules. They were slaughtering wives, burning down nurseries. I couldn't risk you being collateral damage. If a single hair on your head had been harmed because of my name, I would have burned this entire city to the ground and put a bullet in my own head.""
""And so instead, you broke my heart into a million pieces,"" I said, cold tears streaming down my face. ""Do you have any idea what it felt like? Standing in that diner parking lot, watching you smile at another woman? Packing my bags while you stood silently in the hallway? I was carrying your baby, Vincent! I was three weeks pregnant when I walked out of that mansion, vomiting in gas station bathrooms halfway across the country, terrified and entirely alone!""
Vincent dropped to his knees.
The supreme boss of Chicago, a man whose name made governors and cartel leaders tremble, fell onto his knees right on the carpet before me. He buried his face in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking violently as suppressed sobs racked his body.
""I didn't know,"" he wept, the sound guttural and destroyed. ""Claire, I swear on everything holy, I didn't know you were carrying a child. If I had known... God forgive me, if I had known, I would have thrown you on a private jet to Switzerland and abandoned the entire empire to be your bodyguard.""
I stood above him, my hands trembling. The urge to reach down and run my fingers through his hair—an old, instinctual habit of twelve years—was overwhelming. But the wall of pain built over half a decade didn't crumble in an hour.
The click of the bedroom door broke the agonizing silence.
Both Vincent and I turned instantly.
Lily stood in the doorway, rubbing her sleepy eyes with a small fist, dragging her stuffed rabbit by its ear. She blinked at the dimly lit room, her gaze drifting down to the massive man kneeling on the floor.
""Mommy?"" she whispered sleepily. ""Why is the superhero crying?""
Vincent froze. Slowly, terrified that any sudden movement might frighten her away, he lifted his head. The tears were plain on his cheeks, glistening in the soft lamp light. He looked at her with an awe so profound it looked almost religious.
""Lily,"" I whispered, holding out a hand. ""Come here, sweetie.""
Lily padded across the soft carpet in her footie pajamas. Instead of running directly into my arms, she stopped a foot away from Vincent. Her dark, inquisitive eyes—his eyes—locked onto his face. She tilted her head, analyzing the broad, scarred man who looked so completely shattered.
With the innocent bravery that only a four-year-old possessed, Lily reached out her tiny hand and gently touched Vincent’s stubbled cheek, brushing away a tear with her thumb.
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""Don't cry, mister,"" she said softly. ""My mommy kisses my scrapes when I fall down. Do you need a band-aid?""
A strangled gasp ripped from Vincent's throat. He closed his eyes, leaning his cheek into her tiny palm as if her touch was the only thing anchoring him to the living earth.
