Chapter 4 - Vincent Moretti’s Warning
Marco called the restaurant the next afternoon.
Grace was standing beside Vincent in the hotel security office when her manager forwarded the voicemail.
Marco’s voice filled the room.
“Grace, sweetheart. You’ve turned a private disagreement into something embarrassing. Call me before somebody gets hurt.”
Vincent stopped the recording.
“There.”
Grace looked at him.
“What?”
“He made a mistake.”
Vincent replayed it.
“Before somebody gets hurt.”
Grace understood.
“A threat.”
“Potentially enough to strengthen the pattern.”
Vincent’s attorney, Elena Torres, sat across the table.
“We document everything,” Elena said. “Calls. Messages. Photographs. The break-in. Witness statements.”
Grace looked at Vincent.
“You called a lawyer?”
“A very good one.”
Elena smiled.
“He called at six this morning.”
Grace frowned.
“You were awake at six?”
Vincent shrugged.
“I don’t sleep much.”
Elena gathered the papers.
“We can pursue an emergency protective order.”
“Do it,” Grace said.
Vincent looked at her.
Grace straightened.
“I spent a year hoping he’d get bored. I’m done hoping.”
Elena nodded.
“That’s what I needed to hear.”
After she left, Grace noticed Vincent watching her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That look is not nothing.”
“You’re different today.”
“I slept four hours in a hotel suite larger than my apartment.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Grace stepped closer.
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
“I was scared yesterday.”
“You’re allowed to be scared.”
“I still am.”
“Good.”
She frowned.
“Good?”
“Fear is information. It tells you something matters. Panic is what makes decisions for you.”
Grace studied him.
“You sound like someone who learned that the hard way.”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“My father believed fear was useful only when other people felt it.”
“And you?”
“I think fear is useful when you listen to it without obeying it.”
Grace smiled faintly.
“That’s surprisingly healthy for a terrifying mafia-looking man.”
Vincent turned.
“Mafia-looking?”
“The tattoos don’t exactly scream accountant.”
He looked down at the black-and-gray ink visible across his hand.
“My accountant has tattoos.”
“Does he have three men silently watching every exit?”
“No.”
“Point for me.”
Vincent laughed.
It was the first real laugh she had heard from him.
Then his phone rang.
His expression changed as he listened.
“When?”
Grace immediately knew something was wrong.
Vincent ended the call.
“Marco went to your mother’s house.”
Grace went pale.
“What?”
“She wasn’t home.”
“How do you know?”
“One of my men was watching the street.”
“You put someone outside my mother’s house?”
“I was concerned.”
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
She blinked, surprised by the immediate admission.
Vincent continued.
“I should have asked.”
Grace’s anger softened slightly.
“What did Marco do?”
“Left flowers.”
“That’s it?”
“And a note.”
“What did it say?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“He wrote, ‘Family should never become part of an argument.’”
Grace grabbed her phone.
Vincent stopped her.
“Call your mother. Tell her everything.”
“I need to go there.”
“No.”
“Vincent—”
“You go there, Marco gets exactly what he wants. He controls your movement.”
Grace stared at him.
“So what do I do?”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You stop reacting.”
His gray eyes were steady.
May you like
“You make him react to you.”
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