Chapter 4 - The Little Girl Who Heard Too Much
The first security car reached Carmen's apartment at 6:28 p.m.
The apartment was empty.
Vincent learned that at 6:29.
By 6:30, he was already moving.
“Call her again.”
Marco stood beside him in the rear of the armored SUV.
“I've called six times.”
“Seven won't kill you.”
Marco called again.
No answer.
Vincent stared through the windshield.
Traffic.
Too much traffic.
Manhattan felt designed specifically to trap him at the worst possible moment.
“Where would she go?”
“School?”
“Closed.”
“Pharmacy?”
Vincent turned.
“The medicine.”
Marco immediately began searching.
“Prescription bag from the staff room had a pharmacy logo. Three blocks from her apartment.”
“Call them.”
Thirty seconds later Marco looked up.
“She was there twenty minutes ago.”
“Alone?”
“With Isabella.”
“Where next?”
“No idea.”
Vincent called Carmen himself.
Straight to voicemail.
His jaw clenched.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Torino.”
Silence.
Then a whisper.
“Mr. Bad Eggs?”
Every muscle in Vincent's body unlocked at once.
“Isabella.”
Marco's head snapped toward him.
“Where are you?”
“In the laundry place.”
“What laundry place?”
“The one with the blue sign.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“That's very helpful.”
“I'm sorry.”
“No. Don't be sorry. Is your mother with you?”
A pause.
“She's talking to a lady.”
“Put her on.”
Another pause.
“Isabella?”
“I need to tell you something first.”
Vincent exchanged a look with Marco.
“What?”
“I saw Mr. Anthony.”
His blood cooled.
“When?”
“Today.”
“Where?”
“At your house.”
“That's not unusual.”
“He was talking weird.”
“How?”
“He told someone you didn't know about the girl.”
Vincent went still.
“Exactly what did he say?”
“I don't remember all of it.”
“Try.”
Isabella breathed into the phone.
“He said, ‘Torino doesn't know the girl matters yet.’”
Marco whispered a curse.
Vincent held up a hand.
“What else?”
“He said Monday.”
“What about Monday?”
“I don't know.”
“Where were you?”
“By the back stairs.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don't think so.”
Vincent shut his eyes briefly.
A child overhearing a traitor could become a witness.
A witness could become a target.
“Listen to me. Do not leave that building.”
“Okay.”
“Stay next to your mother.”
“Okay.”
“And Isabella?”
“Yes?”
“You did exactly the right thing calling me.”
Her voice became smaller.
“I used the emergency number from Mommy's purse.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“Good.”
“She said not to.”
“Your mother and I will discuss that later.”
“I think she's mad.”
“She's about to be much angrier.”
“Are you going to yell?”
“At your mother?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“At me?”
“No.”
“At Mr. Anthony?”
Vincent looked at Marco.
“We'll see.”
“Okay.”
Carmen came onto the line.
“Mr. Torino?”
“Don't move.”
“What happened?”
“Isabella heard Anthony talking.”
Carmen went silent.
“She told you?”
“Yes.”
“I told her not to bother—”
“She didn't bother me.”
Vincent's voice sharpened.
“Carmen, someone may be watching your apartment.”
Her breathing changed.
“Where should we go?”
“Nowhere. We're coming.”
They reached the laundromat eleven minutes later.
Carmen was standing beside a row of washing machines gripping Isabella's hand.
Two security men were already positioned outside.
Vincent entered.
Isabella immediately looked relieved.
Carmen did not.
She looked furious.
“You had men follow me.”
“To protect you.”
“You could have warned me.”
“I tried.”
“My phone died.”
“I noticed.”
“That's not funny.”
“I wasn't joking.”
Isabella looked between them.
“Are you fighting?”
Both adults answered at once.
“No.”
The girl considered that.
“You look like you're fighting.”
Marco coughed to hide a laugh.
Vincent shot him a look.
“Car.”
Marco nodded.
Carmen folded her arms.
“I'm not getting into some car until someone tells me what's happening.”
Vincent lowered his voice.
“Anthony has been meeting with the Morettis.”
Her face changed.
She knew the name.
Everyone in the city knew enough about the Moretti family not to ask unnecessary questions.
“Why would he have pictures of us?”
Vincent paused.
Carmen understood.
“He has pictures?”
Isabella squeezed her hand.
Vincent glanced toward the child.
“Not here.”
Carmen looked around.
Then nodded.
They left through the rear.
Inside the SUV, Isabella sat between Carmen and Vincent.
Marco rode opposite them.
The girl looked fascinated by the reinforced windows.
“Is this bulletproof?”
Carmen sighed.
“Isabella.”
“What?”
Vincent answered.
“Yes.”
“Has anyone shot it?”
“Yes.”
Carmen glared.
“Mr. Torino.”
“What?”
“She doesn't need to know that.”
Isabella leaned toward him.
“How many times?”
Vincent considered.
Carmen pointed at him.
“Don't.”
He almost smiled.
“Ask Marco.”
Marco's eyes widened.
“Traitor,” he muttered.
For several minutes, the absurdity almost made the danger disappear.
Then Marco's phone buzzed.
His expression changed.
Vincent saw it.
“What?”
“Anthony returned to the mansion.”
Vincent frowned.
“He knows we're watching him?”
“Maybe.”
“Why come back?”
Marco looked at Isabella.
The answer was obvious.
To retrieve something.
Or destroy something.
“Take Carmen and Isabella to the guest property,” Vincent said.
“No,” Carmen replied.
He looked at her.
“No?”
“I am not being separated from my daughter.”
“Nobody said you were.”
“Then where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Why?”
“Because Anthony is there.”
Carmen shook her head.
“You think I'm going to sit somewhere while the man who stole from me and apparently gave criminals pictures of my daughter walks around your house?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Vincent stared at her.
Marco looked out the window to avoid becoming involved.
“Carmen.”
“Don't use that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one that makes everyone else do what you want.”
“It usually works.”
“Not tonight.”
Isabella whispered, “Mommy's mad.”
Marco nodded solemnly.
“Yes.”
Vincent ignored both of them.
“You are not coming back to the mansion.”
“I work there.”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Carmen laughed incredulously.
“You're impossible.”
“I'm keeping you alive.”
“And you think ordering me around makes that easier?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it doesn't.”
Vincent looked at her.
For years, powerful men had tried to intimidate him.
Carmen, a five-foot-four housekeeper wearing discount sneakers, seemed entirely unimpressed by his reputation.
Somehow that made him want to protect her more.
He leaned closer.
“Anthony sold information about my home to men who may be preparing an attack.”
Carmen stopped arguing.
Vincent continued.
“If Isabella heard him talking, he may realize she heard him.”
Carmen's face drained of color.
“He could hurt her?”
Vincent answered carefully.
“He will not get the chance.”
There was a difference.
Carmen heard it.
“Promise?”
The word echoed Isabella's question from the pantry.
Vincent looked at mother and daughter.
“Yes.”
He meant it.
The SUV changed direction.
Marco gave him a questioning look.
Vincent nodded.
They were all returning to the mansion.
Not because Carmen had won the argument.
At least that was what Vincent told himself.
The mansion looked calm when they arrived.
Too calm.
Security had quietly locked down the property.
No sirens.
No visible weapons.
Vincent wanted Isabella shielded from as much as possible.
He took Carmen and Isabella through a private entrance.
“Marco.”
“Yeah?”
“Safe room.”
Carmen looked offended.
“I'm not sitting in a bunker.”
Vincent stopped.
“Five minutes ago, you demanded to come here.”
“Yes.”
“And now you're arguing about where you stay once you're here.”
“Yes.”
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Isabella whispered, “Mommy always wins.”
Vincent slowly looked at her.
“Noted.”
He turned to Carmen.
“You stay with Isabella. Door remains locked until I return.”
Carmen's expression softened.
“Be careful.”
Vincent paused.
Few people said that to him.
People told Vincent to win.
To destroy someone.
To send a message.
To protect business.
Nobody told him simply to be careful.
“I will.”
Anthony was found in the administration office.
Sitting at his desk.
Calm.
As though nothing had happened.
Vincent entered with Marco.
Anthony stood.
“Mr. Torino.”
Vincent closed the door.
“Working late?”
Anthony smiled nervously.
“Quarterly vendor reports.”
“Interesting.”
Vincent sat in the chair opposite him.
Marco remained near the door.
Anthony glanced between them.
“Is there a problem?”
Vincent studied the man.
He had known Anthony for years.
Christmas bonuses.
Funeral condolences.
Birthday handshakes.
The most dangerous betrayals rarely came from strangers.
“Tell me about Carmen.”
Anthony's face barely changed.
Barely.
“What about her?”
“Salary.”
“I'm not sure offhand.”
“Try.”
“Thirty-eight?”
Vincent smiled.
Anthony knew.
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
Vincent placed the original contract on the desk.
Then the altered one.
Anthony looked at them.
His face remained composed.
“Accounting error.”
“Four years of errors?”
“I'd need to review—”
Vincent placed bank transfers beside the contracts.
Anthony stopped speaking.
Marco crossed his arms.
Vincent leaned back.
“Here's what happens next.”
Anthony swallowed.
“You tell me exactly how long you've been selling information to Lorenzo Moretti.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I swear—”
“You're allowed one lie tonight, Anthony.”
Vincent's voice remained calm.
“That was it.”
Anthony's eyes moved toward Marco.
“You think you can threaten me?”
Vincent almost smiled.
“If I were threatening you, you wouldn't need to ask.”
Anthony's confidence cracked.
Marco stepped forward.
Vincent lifted a hand.
No violence.
Not yet.
He wanted truth.
“Why does Lorenzo care about Carmen?”
Anthony looked confused.
Vincent watched carefully.
Real confusion.
Interesting.
“He doesn't.”
“Then why did you have photographs of her?”
Anthony's face changed.
There.
Something.
“I didn't.”
“Marco watched you receive them.”
Anthony's breathing quickened.
“They weren't for me.”
“For who?”
Silence.
Vincent stood.
“Who?”
Anthony finally whispered, “Lorenzo.”
Vincent's stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He asked for everyone you've recently changed routines for.”
Vincent understood immediately.
After the pantry incident, he'd altered Carmen's schedule.
Security had driven her home twice.
He'd personally met with her.
Lorenzo's network had noticed.
Anthony had been ordered to identify why.
“He thinks she matters to me.”
Anthony nodded.
Vincent's voice dropped.
“And the child?”
“I told him she's nothing.”
Marco stepped forward.
Vincent's eyes became ice.
Anthony realized the mistake immediately.
“I mean—”
“What did you tell him?”
“That she was just Carmen's daughter.”
“Just.”
Anthony swallowed.
“I didn't know.”
Vincent moved closer.
“You don't know anything.”
Anthony backed toward the desk.
“You don't know that Carmen worked while skipping meals.”
“Vincent,” Marco warned quietly.
“You don't know you stole money meant for a sick child.”
Anthony shook his head.
“I didn't know about that.”
“You didn't care enough to know.”
Vincent was now inches away.
Anthony looked terrified.
And for one brief moment, the old Vincent wanted to solve everything the old way.
Fear.
Pain.
Permanent consequences.
Then he remembered Isabella flinching when she saw his gun.
Vincent stepped back.
“Marco.”
Marco understood.
“Police?”
Anthony's head snapped up.
Vincent looked at him.
The word surprised everyone.
Including Vincent.
“Financial crimes. Fraud. Theft. Give them the records.”
Anthony stared.
“You can't.”
“I can.”
“You don't involve police.”
“Tonight I do.”
Anthony laughed nervously.
“You'll expose yourself.”
“Maybe.”
“You'll expose accounts.”
“Maybe.”
“Moretti will know.”
Vincent looked toward the hallway where Carmen and Isabella waited behind a locked steel door.
“I don't care.”
That was when Anthony smiled.
It was small.
Desperate.
But triumphant.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
Anthony said nothing.
Vincent's blood went cold.
“What did you do?”
Anthony's smile widened.
“I told Lorenzo where they'd be Monday.”
Vincent grabbed him by the collar.
“Where who would be?”
Anthony looked directly into his eyes.
“Carmen and the girl.”
Vincent's grip tightened.
“Why Monday?”
Anthony whispered, “Because Monday was supposed to be your dinner with Lorenzo.”
Marco reached for his phone.
Vincent released Anthony.
Everything became clear.
The dinner invitation.
The photograph.
The timing.
Lorenzo never intended to negotiate about warehouses.
He intended to create leverage.
Vincent turned.
“Lock the property.”
Marco was already moving.
“Done.”
“Double the gates.”
“Done.”
“Cancel Monday.”
Marco stopped.
Vincent looked back at Anthony.
“No.”
A new plan formed.
“Don't cancel anything.”
Marco understood slowly.
“You're going?”
“Yes.”
“It's a trap.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“I know.”
Behind three layers of reinforced walls, Isabella sat beside Carmen and drew pictures on a security notepad.
She had no idea that men were planning a war around her.
Vincent intended to keep it that way.
Because if Lorenzo Moretti believed a hungry little girl was Vincent Torino's weakness, he was about to discover something else.
Weakness and purpose sometimes looked exactly the same.
May you like
Until it was too late.
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