Chapter 3 - The Enemy Already Knew
By morning, labor had slowed.
Dr. Patel wanted Clara hospitalized.
Vincent agreed before Clara could answer.
She glared at him.
He corrected himself.
“If Clara agrees.”
Dr. Patel raised an eyebrow.
Clara almost laughed.
“Yes. I agree.”
When the doctor left, Vincent poured water into a paper cup.
“You enjoyed that.”
“A little.”
His phone vibrated on the table.
Frankie.
Vincent answered.
“Talk.”
“We found the car.”
“Who owns it?”
“Shell company.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Whose shell company?”
A pause.
“Anthony Bell.”
Clara heard the name.
Her stomach tightened for an entirely different reason.
Vincent ended the call.
“Anthony?”
“Yes.”
“He still works for you?”
“Worked.”
Clara knew Anthony Bell.
Vincent’s cousin.
A syndicate captain who had always resented Clara’s influence.
“He knows about the baby?”
“Probably.”
“Then I need to leave.”
“No.”
Clara stared at him.
Vincent caught himself.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“I think leaving the hospital would be dangerous.”
“Better.”
“Don’t enjoy it.”
“I absolutely will.”
Vincent sat opposite her.
“Anthony has been moving against me for months.”
“And you came to the diner because?”
“I was meeting someone.”
“At two in the morning?”
“My business keeps unusual hours.”
“Your criminal business.”
“Yes.”
Clara had expected a denial.
She didn’t get one.
Vincent continued.
“Anthony believes I’ve become weak.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
His eyes shifted toward her stomach.
“But now he knows where to look.”
Clara’s hand instinctively covered the baby.
Vincent saw it.
“Nothing will happen to you.”
“You cannot promise that.”
“No.”
Another unexpected answer.
“I can promise I won’t hide the danger from you.”
Clara studied him.
“That would be new.”
“I know.”
Frankie appeared at the doorway.
Unarmed.
Vincent nodded.
“Come in.”
Frankie placed a phone on the table.
“Anthony called.”
Vincent’s expression darkened.
“What did he say?”
“He wants to talk.”
“About?”
Frankie looked at Clara.
Vincent’s voice became dangerous.
“Say it.”
“He knows.”
Clara felt cold.
Frankie continued.
“He said congratulations.”
Vincent stood.
“Get him on the phone.”
Minutes later, Anthony answered.
“Cousin.”
Vincent put the call on speaker.
“Anthony.”
“Unexpected night?”
Vincent’s face showed nothing.
Clara spoke first.
“Hello, Anthony.”
Silence.
Then a laugh.
“Clara. Eight months missing and suddenly everyone finds you.”
“Not everyone.”
“Not yet.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
Anthony laughed again.
“There’s the Vincent I remember.”
“What do you want?”
“What I’ve always wanted. Stability.”
“You mean my chair.”
“I mean the syndicate needs a leader who isn’t distracted by domestic problems.”
Clara looked at Vincent.
He remained silent.
Anthony continued.
“A pregnant ex-wife creates complications.”
Vincent leaned closer to the phone.
“If any person working for you comes within a mile of this hospital—”
Clara touched his arm.
Vincent stopped.
She shook her head.
Not threats.
Not again.
Vincent stared at her.
Then he changed direction.
“You’re finished, Anthony.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Because you’ll kill me?”
“No.”
That surprised Frankie.
It surprised Clara more.
Vincent continued.
“Because by noon, every captain will know you used syndicate resources to follow my family without authorization.”
Anthony’s voice lost its amusement.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I already have.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Vincent looked at Frankie.
Frankie nodded and sent a message.
Vincent said, “Check your phone.”
Silence.
Then Anthony cursed.
Vincent ended the call.
Clara stared at him.
“You didn’t threaten to kill him.”
“No.”
“You wanted to.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Because you were watching.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I know.”
He stood by the window.
“I spent twenty years making sure fear was the fastest solution.”
“And?”
“And perhaps fast solutions are why my wife ran away while pregnant.”
Clara did not answer.
Frankie cleared his throat.
“Boss, there’s something else.”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
“Anthony knows her address.”
Clara sat upright.
“How?”
“We found surveillance photographs.”
Her face changed.
“My apartment?”
Frankie nodded.
“How long?”
“At least three weeks.”
Clara’s breath caught.
Three weeks.
Someone had been watching her.
Vincent’s jaw flexed.
“Anything else?”
Frankie hesitated.
“There are photographs inside the diner.”
Clara looked at him.
“Inside?”
“Someone on staff was feeding him information.”
Mr. Henderson.
The cook.
The cab driver.
Her coworkers.
Her safe little world suddenly felt staged.
Vincent looked at Clara.
“You cannot return there.”
She started to argue.
Then stopped.
Because this time, he wasn’t wrong.
“Where do I go?”
Vincent answered carefully.
“You decide.”
Clara blinked.
“What?”
“I can arrange a hotel. A private apartment. Another hospital. Or…”
He paused.
“The estate.”
She stared at him.
“The estate?”
“You know its security.”
“And its locks.”
“I’ll give you every key.”
“Vincent.”
“No trackers. No restrictions. No guards inside your rooms unless you ask.”
She searched his face.
“And when the baby comes?”
“You decide where you live.”
“Even if I leave again?”
The answer clearly hurt him.
But he gave it.
“Yes.”
Clara looked down at her stomach.
For the first time in eight months, she considered returning to the home she had escaped.
Not because Vincent ordered it.
May you like
Because he finally hadn’t.
---
