Chapter 4 - The Debts We Owe
By noon, the private medical suite on the third floor of the estate had been completely scrubbed clean of all traces of violence.
The broken machines had been hauled away, the bullet holes in the wall patched and freshly painted, and the heavy drapes pulled back to let in the bright afternoon sunlight.
Tessa sat on the edge of the large guest bed in the adjoining suite down the hall.
A female physician hired by Dr. Matteo had just finished applying three butterfly stitches to her split lip and wrapping an ice pack around her swollen jaw. She had changed out of her torn, bloody maid uniform into a soft gray cashmere sweater and dark leggings that someone had quietly left on the dresser for her.
She stared down at her hands, still trembling.
The door opened quietly.
Tessa flinched, looking up with wide, defensive eyes.
Vincent Costa walked in.
He was holding a cup of hot chamomile tea in one hand and a thin manila envelope in the other. He didn't look like the towering mafia don who had crushed a man's windpipe twelve hours earlier. He had removed his jacket, rolling the sleeves of his black dress shirt up past his forearms, revealing the faded scars of old wounds.
He walked over and set the tea on the bedside table beside her.
"Drink it," he said gently. "It will help with the throat pain."
Tessa looked at the steaming cup, then looked up at him warily. "Is... is he dead? The man with the gun?"
"No," Vincent replied, pulling a comfortable armchair across the carpet and sitting down three feet away from her. "He's alive. And he's currently giving the FBI every name, date, and bank account associated with the people who sent him."
Tessa let out a shaky breath, pulling the oversized sleeves of the sweater over her knuckles. "And your fiancée? The woman with the expensive shoes?"
"In federal custody," Vincent said simply. "She won't be coming back."
Silence fell over the room. Outside, the autumn wind rustled the leaves of the great oak trees surrounding the estate.
"Why didn't you let him kill you?" Tessa asked suddenly, her voice cracking slightly. "I mean... you could have just stayed under the sheets. When I threw those towels, he looked right at me. You could have let him shoot me and then taken him down."
Vincent’s jaw tightened. "Do you think so little of me?"
Tessa let out a small, bitter laugh, touching her sore lip with the tip of her finger. "Mr. Costa, three days ago, I watched your collection thugs walk into my brother's bakery and break his display cases because he was short two hundred dollars. You're not exactly known for your chivalry in the Elm district."
Vincent didn't get angry. He didn't raise his voice or make excuses. He just looked at her, his storm-gray eyes steady, absorbing every drop of her righteous anger.
"You're right," he said quietly.
Tessa blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"You're right," Vincent repeated. "For ten years, I convinced myself that what I was doing was just 'business.' That order required cruelty. That the people whose shops were taxed, whose lives were disrupted, were just collateral damage in a war to keep worse predators off the streets. I lived in an ivory tower, surrounded by parasites like Camila and Lorenzo who told me I was a god, while the only real person in this house was scrubbing my floors for minimum wage."
He picked up the manila envelope from his knee and placed it in her lap.
Tessa looked down at it. "What's this?"
"Open it," Vincent said.
With hesitant fingers, Tessa slid the clasp open and pulled out the contents.
Inside was a certified deed of commercial property, a release of all municipal liens, and a cashier’s check drawn from the First National Bank made out directly to Leo Mancini.
The amount on the check was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Tessa stared at the numbers. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darted from the paper up to Vincent's face, wide with shock.
"The commercial building at Fourth and Elm," Vincent explained, his tone completely matter-of-fact. "The bakery. The landlord didn't sell it because of market forces. Lorenzo bought it through a shell company to force your brother out so he could build an illegal numbers room. That deed restores full, unencumbered ownership of the entire building to your brother, Leo. No rent. No taxes for five years. No protection fees. Ever."
"This... this check..." Tessa whispered, her hands shaking so violently the paper fluttered. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? What is this?"
"Full restitution for the revenue lost, the equipment damaged, and the emotional distress caused to your family," Vincent said. "Along with enough capital for Leo to buy the finest Italian ovens in the country and reopen the bakery with six new employees."
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Tessa’s eyes filled with tears, spilling down over her cheeks. "Why are you doing this? Because I threw some towels at a hitman?"
"No," Vincent said, leaning forward, looking straight into her soul. "You took a bullet for a man you despised because you believed that no human being deserved to die alone in a room full of machines. You showed more honor, more courage, and more humanity in thirty seconds than anyone I've known in my entire life. That deed doesn't repay what you did for me, Tessa. It just begins to repay what I stole from you."
