Chapter 2 - The Scent of Blood and Vanilla
The air evaporated from my lungs, leaving me gasping as if someone had plunged me into ice water. "Murdered? No... the police report said a safety harness snapped. They closed the case."
"The police report was written by an officer whose mortgage is paid by Sal DeLuca's cash envelopes," Vincent said coldly, turning his back to pour himself a dark, bitter espresso. "Daniel found out that DeLuca's crew was using expired, counterfeit structural cables on city infrastructure projects. He threatened to go to the state attorney. Forty-eight hours later, a rigging beam conveniently sheared in two right above where Daniel was standing."
Tears blurred my vision, hot and furious. All those endless nights I spent rocking Ellie in our freezing apartment, blaming the universe, blaming rotten luck, blaming Daniel for not checking his gear—it was all a manufactured lie. My gentle, hardworking husband hadn't been clumsy; he had been silenced. Ellie finished her bottle, letting out a soft sigh of milk-drunk satisfaction, completely oblivious to the explosive revelation tearing my world apart.
"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered, clutching Ellie tightly against my chest. "If you know DeLuca, if you run the underworld in this city, why do you care about a broken waitress and an orphaned baby?"
Vincent walked back to his desk, sliding a framed photograph across the dark mahogany top. Inside the silver frame was a picture of a radiant, laughing woman holding a baby girl with wild brown curls, surrounded by a blooming garden. "That was my sister, Clara, and my niece, Mia. Five years ago, DeLuca tried to send me a message through a car bomb parked outside Clara's home in Oak Park. Clara died instantly. Mia survived three months in the intensive care unit before her little heart gave out." His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk, his voice dropping into a register so dark it shook the floorboards. "Mia was seven months old when she died. Exactly Ellie's age. When I walked into that dark storage closet yesterday and saw Ellie lying on that blanket with her little rattle, looking at me without fear... I knew Clara and Mia hadn't let me find her by accident."
Before I could wrap my head around his tragic confession, the office phone buzzed with an urgent, shrill tone. Vincent tapped the speakerphone with a heavy signet ring. "Speak."
"Boss, Richard is creating a scene upstairs," his head of security, Marco, announced through the speaker, voice tight with alarm. "Two of DeLuca’s debt collectors just walked through the front doors of the restaurant during the lunch setup. They're demanding to see Emily Hughes. They claim she inherited an outstanding sixty-thousand-dollar balance from Daniel's private business accounts."
My heart plummeted into my throat. Sixty thousand dollars? Daniel didn't have private business accounts. He drove an eight-year-old pickup truck and bought his work boots on clearance. This was an intimidation tactic—they were coming to clean up the loose ends Daniel had left behind.
"Tell the kitchen staff to take an early break," Vincent commanded, not a single trace of panic in his voice, only the lethal, predatory calm of a man who ruled by iron and blood. "Lock the glass dining room doors from the outside. Marco, do not engage until I am in the room." Vincent clicked the console off, turned to me, and held out his arms. "Give her to me, Emily."
"What?" I gasped, instinctively pulling Ellie backward.
"You're going to walk out the rear exit with Marco’s second-in-command and get into an armored black sedan in the alley," Vincent commanded, his dark eyes boring into mine with an undeniable, protective authority that left no room for debate. "They aren't here for money. They're here to grab you and the baby to see if Daniel left you copies of the inspection logs. If they touch you, they will kill you both to bury the evidence. Give me Ellie for five minutes. I will carry her up myself."
"I can't leave her!" I sobbed, panic clawing at my throat.
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"Look at me, Emily," Vincent said, kneeling down again, his hand gently but firmly wrapping around my trembling wrist. "On the memory of my sister and my niece, no one in this city will lay a single hand on this child. Trust me. Let me end this before it begins."
Desperation and something primal inside his fierce, sorrowful eyes forced me to yield. Trembling, I transferred Ellie into his arms. Vincent cradled her with an instinctive, natural gentleness that defied his reputation, pulling the soft pink blanket around her shoulders. "Go with Marco. Keep your phone on. I'll meet you in the car."
