Chapter 5 - Someone Inside the Mansion Was Lying
Monday arrived under gray skies.
Carmen hated everything about it.
She hated the armed men at the mansion gates.
She hated the security cameras following her through hallways.
She hated that Isabella had been temporarily removed from school.
Most of all, she hated how normal Vincent pretended everything was.
At nine that morning, he sat at the kitchen island drinking espresso while reading a newspaper.
Carmen walked in and stared at him.
“You're going tonight.”
Vincent turned a page.
“Yes.”
“You know it's a trap.”
“Yes.”
“And you're still going.”
“Yes.”
Carmen took the newspaper away.
Vincent slowly looked at her.
“That was rude.”
“You can buy another one.”
“That's not the point.”
“Then explain the point.”
Vincent folded his hands.
“Lorenzo believes he has leverage.”
“Us.”
Vincent's expression tightened.
“I don't like that word.”
“It's accurate.”
“No.”
“Then what are we?”
The question hung between them.
Vincent didn't answer quickly enough.
Carmen noticed.
Vincent stood.
“You and Isabella are under my protection.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“I know.”
Carmen's voice softened.
“You met my daughter four days ago.”
“I know.”
“You barely knew my name before that.”
“I knew your name.”
“You called me Camila once.”
Vincent frowned.
“When?”
“Last Christmas.”
“That doesn't sound like me.”
“It was.”
“Maybe you heard wrong.”
“I was standing three feet away.”
Vincent sighed.
“Fine.”
Carmen almost smiled.
Then the seriousness returned.
“Why risk your life for us?”
He looked at her.
The answer should have been simple.
Because Anthony's betrayal threatened his organization.
Because Lorenzo had crossed a line.
Because protecting employees preserved loyalty.
Those were respectable answers for a man like Vincent.
None felt true enough.
“Because Isabella asked me not to fire you.”
Carmen stared.
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“I know.”
Vincent looked toward the pantry.
“That kid sat on the floor eating food we were going to throw away and was more afraid for your job than herself.”
His jaw tightened.
“I've met grown men who would trade their mothers for half the things in this house.”
Carmen said nothing.
“And your daughter was hungry and still thinking about you.”
Vincent looked back at her.
“I don't know exactly what that did to me.”
Carmen's eyes softened.
“But something changed.”
“Yes.”
They stood in silence.
Then Isabella entered carrying two pieces of paper.
“Mr. Bad Eggs?”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Carmen laughed.
“I told you to stop calling him that.”
“He said I could.”
“I absolutely did not.”
Isabella handed him a drawing.
This one showed Vincent wearing a crown.
Vincent stared.
“Why am I a king?”
“Because everybody does what you say.”
Carmen coughed.
Vincent looked at her.
“Almost everybody.”
Isabella handed the second drawing to Carmen.
Three figures again.
Mom.
Me.
Vincent.
This time they were sitting at a table.
Vincent's chest tightened.
“What is this?”
“Dinner.”
“Why am I there?”
“Because you always eat alone.”
The room became quiet.
Vincent looked at the child.
“How do you know that?”
“People talk.”
Carmen looked horrified.
“What people?”
Isabella shrugged.
Vincent almost smiled.
“She'll run this city by sixteen.”
“Don't encourage her.”
Isabella pointed at the drawing.
“You should eat with people.”
“Why?”
“Because food tastes sad when you're alone.”
Nobody spoke.
Vincent stared at the picture longer than necessary.
Then Marco appeared in the doorway.
His expression erased the softness immediately.
“We need you.”
Vincent put down the drawing.
“Study?”
Marco nodded.
Vincent turned to Carmen.
“Stay here.”
She rolled her eyes.
Vincent pointed at her.
“That's exactly the expression Isabella makes.”
“She learned from me.”
“I noticed.”
In the study, Marco locked the door.
“We have a problem.”
“Anthony?”
“In custody.”
“Lorenzo?”
“No.”
Marco placed photographs on the desk.
A security guard.
Name: Daniel Mercer.
Night shift.
Three years at the estate.
Vincent recognized him.
“What?”
“His phone pinged near Carmen's apartment twice last week.”
Vincent's face hardened.
“He was one of the men I sent to protect them.”
“I know.”
“You vetted him.”
“I did.”
“Do it again.”
“I already did.”
Marco handed him another file.
“His brother owes Moretti-controlled bookmakers almost two hundred grand.”
Vincent swore.
“Another leak.”
“Looks like.”
“How much does he know?”
“Enough.”
Vincent turned toward the window.
Anthony had been obvious once they looked.
Daniel was different.
Security.
Trusted with defensive plans.
Access codes.
Safe areas.
“Does he know where Carmen and Isabella are supposed to be tonight?”
Marco nodded grimly.
“Yes.”
Vincent looked toward the kitchen wing.
The trap suddenly had another layer.
“We move them.”
“Where?”
“Not the guest property.”
“Agreed.”
“Where Lorenzo won't expect.”
Marco thought.
Vincent did too.
Then Carmen's voice came from behind them.
“My apartment.”
Both men turned.
She stood in the doorway.
Vincent's expression darkened.
“How did you get in?”
“You didn't lock it properly.”
Marco looked offended.
“I absolutely did.”
Carmen held up a key.
“Housekeeping.”
Vincent stared at Marco.
Marco muttered, “We're reviewing every lock tomorrow.”
Carmen walked in.
“My apartment.”
“No.”
“You said somewhere Lorenzo won't expect.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I said—”
Carmen held up one finger.
“If you finish that sentence, I may hit you with your own newspaper.”
Marco turned away to hide a smile.
Vincent glared.
Carmen continued.
“My apartment is modest. No private security. No obvious connection to where you would hide anyone.”
“Which makes it impossible to defend.”
“Unless nobody knows we're there.”
Vincent considered.
Marco did too.
“She has a point.”
Vincent looked betrayed.
Marco shrugged.
“She does.”
“No.”
Carmen folded her arms.
“Then where?”
Vincent had another thought.
“Your sister.”
Carmen froze.
Vincent immediately knew he'd stepped somewhere private.
“What?”
“How do you know about my sister?”
“I know everyone who works in this house.”
“You called me Camila.”
“That was once.”
“Her address is in New Jersey.”
“Exactly.”
Carmen narrowed her eyes.
“You had someone investigate me?”
“Before hiring.”
“That's unsettling.”
“It's responsible.”
“It's creepy.”
“It's both,” Marco offered.
Vincent glared at him.
“Useful contribution.”
Eventually the plan was settled.
Carmen and Isabella would leave through a service exit in an ordinary delivery van.
No escort visible.
Marco's people would follow at a distance.
They would stay with Carmen's older sister Sofia for forty-eight hours.
Only Vincent, Marco, and two vetted men would know.
Daniel would be deliberately fed false information.
The compromised guard would believe Carmen and Isabella remained inside the mansion's secure wing.
If Moretti moved against the house, Vincent would know Daniel had passed the lie.
At 4:10 p.m., Isabella hugged Vincent goodbye.
The gesture caught him completely unprepared.
Her arms wrapped around his waist.
Vincent looked down.
Then slowly placed a hand against the back of her head.
“Listen to your mother.”
“I do.”
Carmen laughed from several feet away.
Vincent looked at Isabella.
“No, you don't.”
“Sometimes.”
“Better.”
Isabella stepped back.
“Don't get shot.”
Carmen closed her eyes.
“Isabella.”
“What? The car is bulletproof.”
Vincent almost laughed.
“I'll try.”
The girl held out her pinky.
Vincent stared.
“What is this?”
“Promise.”
“I already said I'll try.”
“Trying isn't promising.”
He looked at Carmen.
She shrugged.
“She has you there.”
Vincent hooked his little finger around Isabella's.
“Fine.”
“I promise not to get shot.”
“Good.”
Carmen approached.
For one moment, neither knew how to say goodbye.
She finally whispered, “Come back.”
Vincent looked at her.
“I intend to.”
“That isn't a promise.”
“Don't start.”
A tiny smile.
Then she and Isabella left.
At seven thirty, Vincent drove to the Moretti dinner.
No convoy.
One car.
Marco drove.
“You're quiet.”
Vincent looked out the window.
“So are you.”
“I'm always quiet.”
“No, you're annoying.”
Marco smiled.
“Kid got to you.”
Vincent didn't respond.
“Carmen too.”
“Drive.”
“That's not a denial.”
“Marco.”
“Driving.”
Lorenzo Moretti had chosen a private dining room above an old Italian restaurant in Brooklyn.
Of course he had.
Men like Lorenzo enjoyed tradition when tradition made them look important.
Lorenzo stood when Vincent entered.
“Vincent.”
“Lorenzo.”
They shook hands.
Lorenzo gestured toward the table.
“Wine?”
“No.”
“Still angry?”
“Was I angry?”
Lorenzo smiled.
They sat.
For twenty minutes they discussed warehouses.
Shipping.
Unions.
Nothing that mattered.
Vincent waited.
Lorenzo eventually leaned back.
“You've been distracted lately.”
Vincent cut into his steak.
“Have I?”
“Heard there's trouble at home.”
Vincent didn't react.
“Plumbing?”
Lorenzo laughed.
“You were always difficult.”
“And you were always boring.”
The smile vanished briefly.
Then returned.
“Pretty maid.”
Vincent's knife stopped.
There it was.
“Which one?”
“Carmen.”
Vincent looked up.
Lorenzo smiled.
“And the daughter.”
Vincent's expression remained empty.
Inside, something savage rose.
“How do you know my staff?”
“I know many things.”
“Apparently not enough.”
Lorenzo tilted his head.
Vincent's phone vibrated once against his leg.
The prearranged signal.
Marco.
Movement at the mansion.
The false information had worked.
Daniel betrayed them.
Vincent leaned back.
Lorenzo watched him.
“What would you give to keep innocent people out of our disagreement?”
Vincent almost smiled.
“You misunderstand something.”
“What?”
“Those people aren't at my house.”
Lorenzo's face changed.
Barely.
Enough.
Vincent continued.
“And the men you sent there are currently surrounded.”
Silence.
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
Vincent placed his napkin on the table.
“You used a child.”
“No one intended to hurt her.”
“You photographed her.”
“Leverage.”
“You stole from her mother.”
“That was Anthony.”
“You benefited.”
Lorenzo leaned forward.
“Don't become sentimental, Vincent. It doesn't suit you.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Maybe.”
He stood.
“But here's what suits me even less.”
Lorenzo waited.
“Cowardice.”
The room chilled.
Vincent buttoned his jacket.
“You wanted my warehouses. You could have threatened me.”
“I did.”
“You could have attacked my businesses.”
“I considered it.”
“But you chose a housekeeper and an eight-year-old girl.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
Vincent stepped closer.
“That means you're afraid to fight men who can fight back.”
For the first time, Lorenzo's control cracked.
“You should be careful.”
“No.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“You should.”
His phone buzzed again.
A message from Marco.
Daniel confessed. We have everything. Moretti orders included.
Vincent showed Lorenzo the screen.
Color drained from Lorenzo's face.
“This isn't over.”
Vincent slipped the phone away.
“Actually, it is.”
“You think police matter to me?”
“Not police.”
Lorenzo stared.
Vincent leaned down.
“Your partners.”
Lorenzo's face changed.
Now he understood.
Vincent had records proving Lorenzo used resources from shared operations to target civilians.
Old-school crime families tolerated many things.
Children were different.
Families were different.
Rules existed precisely because men without rules eventually destroyed everyone around them.
Vincent straightened.
“By midnight, every family working with you sees the evidence.”
Lorenzo whispered, “You wouldn't.”
“I already scheduled it.”
Vincent walked to the door.
“Enjoy dinner.”
Behind him, Lorenzo said, “That girl made you weak.”
Vincent stopped.
He thought of Isabella hiding in the pantry.
Carmen refusing charity.
A drawing of three people eating together.
Then he looked back.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“She reminded me what strength is supposed to be for.”
May you like
And then Vincent left.
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