Chapter 3 - The Moretti Problem
Adrian arrived ten minutes later.
He read the message twice.
“Who knew Emily was at the hospital?”
Vincent answered.
“Anyone following you.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Did you notice anybody outside the diner?”
“No.”
“Hospital?”
“No.”
Vincent's security chief, Marco, approached.
“The number is disposable.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Cameras?”
“We're checking.”
I grabbed my coat.
Adrian blocked my path.
“Where are you going?”
“To my mother.”
“You can't.”
“Move.”
“Emily—”
“Move.”
Vincent spoke from behind him.
“Let her go.”
Adrian turned.
“Dad.”
“She isn't a prisoner.”
“Someone threatened her.”
“And you'll protect her without treating her like property.”
Adrian reluctantly stepped aside.
I looked at Vincent.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet.”
He turned to Marco.
“Put two men outside Mrs. Carter's room. Plain clothes. Nobody bothers her.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Vincent looked at me.
“They won't enter unless necessary.”
“No guns in her room.”
“They won't be in her room.”
“No frightening nurses.”
Marco almost smiled.
Vincent said, “Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Stop looking like you're planning a murder.”
Vincent's expression didn't change.
“I always look like this.”
Adrian muttered, “Unfortunately true.”
For the first time, Vincent's men laughed around him.
Then Marco's phone rang.
His smile disappeared.
He listened.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found the sedan.”
“Owner?”
“Registered to Doyle Holdings.”
Adrian went still.
Vincent slowly turned toward him.
“Patrick Doyle?”
“Yes.”
I looked between them.
“Who is Patrick Doyle?”
Adrian answered.
“A former business partner.”
Vincent corrected him.
“A thief.”
Adrian's voice hardened.
“He's also the man trying to take control of three shipping contracts from us.”
“So I'm being threatened because I served you bad coffee?”
Vincent frowned.
“You served excellent coffee.”
“You said it was burned.”
“I was in a bad mood.”
I stared at him.
Adrian rubbed his forehead.
“This family is exhausting.”
Vincent ignored him.
“Doyle thinks you're important to us.”
“I'm not.”
Adrian looked at me.
Something in his expression made my pulse change.
Vincent noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His eyes moved between us.
“Oh, hell.”
Adrian glared at him.
“Don't.”
Vincent pointed at his son.
“You like her.”
“Dad.”
“You've known her less than a day.”
“And you're making it worse.”
I folded my arms.
“I am standing right here.”
Vincent looked at me.
“My son likes you.”
“I gathered that.”
Adrian looked horrified.
“Can we concentrate on the death threat?”
“Yes,” I said. “Please.”
But my phone rang again.
This time it was Dana.
I answered.
“Hey.”
Her voice shook.
“Emily... somebody came to the diner asking about you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did they want?”
“They wanted your schedule.”
“Did you tell them?”
“Of course not.”
Behind me, Vincent said quietly, “Ask what he looked like.”
Dana heard him.
“Is that Moretti?”
“Long story.”
“He was maybe forty. Gray coat. Scar near his ear.”
Marco immediately turned toward Vincent.
“We know him.”
Vincent's expression became cold.
“Doyle's driver.”
Adrian grabbed his coat.
“I'll handle it.”
Vincent stopped him.
“No.”
“He went after Emily's workplace.”
“Exactly. That's what he wants. You angry.”
Adrian's hands tightened.
Vincent stepped closer to his son.
“Power isn't showing a man how angry you are. It's making him wonder why you aren't.”
Adrian slowly relaxed.
I watched them.
For the first time, I saw something beneath Vincent's reputation.
A father teaching his son how to survive.
Then Vincent looked at me.
“And you.”
“What?”
“Until this is finished, you're staying somewhere secure.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“I have a mother in the hospital and shifts at the diner.”
“Your mother is protected.”
“And my job?”
“I own the building.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“The diner building.”
“You own Murphy's?”
“The property.”
“Since when?”
“Eleven years.”
I stared at him.
“So technically, you threw a cup at your own wall.”
Adrian started laughing.
Marco turned away.
Even Vincent couldn't answer immediately.
I smiled.
“That must hurt.”
Vincent pointed at me.
“I'm beginning to regret saving your job.”
“You didn't save it.”
“Not yet.”
Then Adrian's phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He showed Vincent.
Patrick Doyle had sent a photograph.
My mother.
Taken through the hospital window.
Beneath it:
MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE, VINCENT.
Vincent became completely still.
Then he said four words.
May you like
“Now we end this.”
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