Chapter 3 - The Five-Million-Dollar Mistake
The modest two-story brownstone in Lincoln Park was completely dark when the low rumble of high-performance engines shattered the quiet neighborhood. Headlights swept across the front porch as five black Cadillac Escalades parked in a blockade, completely sealing off the street.
I was sitting in my mother’s kitchen, sipping chamomile tea in my oversized knit sweater, when the heavy oak front door practically rattled off its hinges from three sharp knocks.
I didn't flinch. I had expected him hours ago.
I walked to the foyer, unlocked the deadbolt, and swung the door open.
There stood Vincent. He looked disheveled—his tie was undone, his hair slightly out of place, and there was a faint trace of purple glitter near his temple. But his eyes burned with enough fury to incinerate the entire block. Behind him, armed bodyguards stood at strict attention along the sidewalk.
""You have five seconds to explain why my life has been hijacked,"" Vincent growled, stepping past me into the hallway without waiting for an invitation.
I closed the door calmly and leaned against it, crossing my arms. ""Hijacked? You’re their father, Vincent. You contributed fifty percent of their DNA. I’d say giving you two months of parenting duty is being exceptionally generous after five years of radio silence.""
Vincent spun around, pulling a crisp slip of paper from his inner breast pocket. He slapped it onto the antique hallway console table.
I glanced down. It was a cashier's check made out to Emily Carter for the sum of $5,000,000.
""Take it,"" Vincent said, his jaw working violently. ""Take the money, buy whatever mansion you want, hire ten nannies, and come back to the penthouse. Bring them home. Now.""
I let out a soft, mocking laugh that made his eyes flare. ""You really haven't changed at all, have you? You think every single problem in this world can be solved with a signature and a briefcase full of dirty cash.""
""It's clean money, Emily!"" he snapped, taking a step toward me until his broad chest was inches from mine. The familiar scent of his sandalwood cologne and expensive cigars washed over me, threatening to drag me back into the memory of who we used to be. ""You hid my children from me! You had my son and daughter growing up without my protection! Do you have any idea what my enemies would do if they found out?""
""Your enemies?"" I looked straight into his dark eyes, refusing to back down. ""That's why I ran, Vincent! Remember five years ago? That drive-by shooting at the restaurant? The blood on my dress? And then, when I begged you to walk away from that life, you told me I was weak. You said you regretted the day you met me.""
Vincent flinched as if I had physically struck him. For a fraction of a second, the cold mask cracked, revealing raw guilt beneath the surface.
""I said that to push you away,"" he whispered, his voice suddenly thick. ""The Colombians were moving into the North Side. I knew there was a contract on my head. I had to make you hate me so you would leave town where you’d be safe.""
May you like
I stared at him, my heart clenching painfully. ""Well, congratulations, Vincent. You succeeded. But you don't get to buy your way out of being a dad. That check is worthless to me. You have fifty-nine days left of your two months. Take good care of our children, Mr. Moretti.""
Before he could answer, I snatched the check, tore it clean down the middle, and shoved the pieces into his suit pocket.
