Chapter 6 - BLOOD AT THE CHRISTMAS PAGEANT
Ellie’s preschool Christmas pageant should have been canceled.
Vincent said so.
Clara disagreed.
“You can’t hide her forever.”
“I can hide her until Dante is in custody.”
“And what does that teach her?”
“That adults sometimes make sensible decisions.”
“That fear chooses where she goes.”
Vincent paced his study.
“That is not what this is.”
Clara folded her arms.
“It is exactly what this is.”
Aldo, sitting between them with paperwork, looked exhausted.
“I would like the record to show that I have survived federal investigations with less tension.”
Vincent ignored him.
Clara did too.
“She has practiced for six weeks,” Clara continued.
“She’s three.”
“She knows every word.”
“To what?”
“Jingle Bells.”
“Human civilization will survive.”
Clara’s eyes flashed.
Vincent stopped.
He had learned something over the previous four days.
Clara Romano was not timid.
Fearful, yes.
Conditioned into silence, yes.
But beneath the apologies was steel.
Once she no longer believed homelessness waited behind every disagreement, she argued magnificently.
Vincent secretly liked it.
Too much.
Ellie appeared in the doorway wearing reindeer antlers.
“Are you fighting?”
“No,” Clara said.
“Yes,” Vincent said.
Clara glared.
Vincent corrected himself.
“Discussing.”
Ellie looked between them.
“Mommy usually wins.”
Aldo covered a cough.
Vincent stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Ellie climbed onto Vincent’s chair.
“I want you to come.”
“To what?”
“My singing.”
Vincent looked at Clara.
She raised one eyebrow.
Traitor.
Ellie continued.
“Mommy comes. You come.”
Vincent had not attended a school performance since Sofia.
He remembered a spring recital where she forgot half a poem and invented the rest.
He remembered applauding until his palms hurt.
He remembered promising to attend the next one.
There had not been a next one.
“I’ll come,” he said.
Ellie smiled.
Clara’s expression softened.
The pageant began at six inside a small Catholic school auditorium in Glen Cove.
Vincent brought security discreetly.
Four men inside.
Six outside.
Two vehicles.
Aldo complained Vincent had essentially invaded a kindergarten.
Vincent considered that acceptable.
Ellie wore a red dress and cardboard antlers.
She stood in the second row beside twelve other children, ringing a silver bell half a beat too late.
Vincent sat beside Clara.
He had not realized how much watching a child perform could hurt.
Or heal.
Ellie spotted him.
Her entire face lit up.
She waved.
The teacher gently lowered her arm.
Vincent smiled.
A real smile.
Clara saw.
“You should do that more.”
“What?”
“That.”
“I’m watching.”
“Smile.”
“I smile.”
“You threaten people with your mouth shaped differently.”
Vincent looked offended.
She laughed.
The sound made him turn toward her.
For one suspended second, he forgot security.
Dante.
Crime.
Everything.
Clara’s dark hair was loose around her shoulders.
She was not wearing her uniform.
Just a green sweater and simple black skirt.
Without the apron, she looked younger.
Freeer.
Beautiful.
Vincent looked away before the thought became obvious.
Aldo’s phone vibrated two rows behind them.
He immediately stood.
Vincent noticed.
Then the fire alarm screamed.
Children shrieked.
Teachers reacted.
Vincent was on his feet before the second alarm pulse.
“Clara, stay with me.”
Smoke appeared near the west hallway.
Too fast.
Not accidental.
Security moved.
Parents crowded toward exits.
Vincent pushed against the flow.
“Ellie!”
Clara screamed her daughter’s name.
The children were being evacuated backstage.
A teacher stumbled out.
“Somebody locked the rear classroom!”
Clara ran.
Vincent caught her wrist.
“Not alone.”
They reached the backstage corridor.
Smoke thickened.
Not fire smoke.
Canister smoke.
Deliberate.
One security guard lay unconscious near a service door.
Vincent’s blood turned cold.
“Ellie!”
A child cried behind a locked classroom.
Clara slammed both hands against the door.
“Ellie!”
“Mommy!”
Vincent fired once at the lock and kicked.
The door opened.
Four children huddled beneath a table.
Ellie ran straight into Clara.
A man moved behind them.
Vincent saw the gun.
He shoved Clara down.
The shot cracked overhead.
Vincent returned fire.
The attacker dropped the weapon, clutching his shoulder.
Security rushed in.
Vincent kicked the gun away.
Then another voice came through the smoke.
“Vince.”
He froze.
Dante stood at the end of the corridor.
No weapon visible.
Just his navy coat and familiar smile.
Clara pulled Ellie behind her.
Vincent took one step forward.
“End this.”
Dante shook his head.
“You destroyed my life over a maid.”
“You destroyed your life over money.”
“Do you know what it was like?”
Vincent stared.
Dante laughed bitterly.
“Of course you don’t.”
“Explain it.”
“Being the second Moretti.”
“This is about jealousy?”
“This is about spending forty years watching everyone wait for you to speak first.”
Vincent’s expression did not change.
Dante continued.
“Father chose you. The men chose you. Even when you became a ghost after Sofia died, they still chose you.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“So you stole from children.”
“I built something for myself.”
“You murdered Paolo.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“He made a choice.”
Clara made a sound.
Vincent’s hand tightened around his gun.
Dante noticed.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
Dante smiled.
“The one everybody’s afraid of.”
Vincent aimed.
Clara whispered behind him.
“Vincent.”
One word.
His name.
Not a plea.
A reminder.
Ellie was watching.
Vincent lowered the gun.
Dante’s smile vanished.
“What are you doing?”
“Ending what Father taught us.”
Sirens approached outside.
Dante glanced toward the exit.
Vincent said, “Marco DeLuca is alive.”
Dante froze.
“He’s talking.”
For the first time, genuine fear crossed Dante’s face.
Vincent continued.
“Federal prosecutors have Paolo’s recordings. The foundation records. The video. Everything.”
“You gave them family records?”
“Yes.”
“You stupid bastard.”
“Maybe.”
Vincent looked at Clara.
“Some things matter more than keeping the Moretti name clean.”
Dante bolted toward the service door.
Security followed.
Vincent did not.
He turned toward Clara and Ellie.
That choice saved Clara’s life.
The wounded attacker had recovered his gun.
Vincent saw movement.
He pushed Clara aside as a shot fired.
Pain exploded through his shoulder.
Clara screamed.
Vincent fell against the wall.
Security shot the attacker in the leg.
Then chaos.
Ellie cried.
“Mr. Vincent!”
He slid to the floor.
Blood spread across his white shirt.
Clara knelt beside him.
“Stay with me.”
Vincent almost laughed.
Years ago, he had said those exact words beside Sofia’s hospital bed.
Stay with me.
As if love could command biology.
Clara pressed both hands over the wound.
“It went through.”
Vincent gritted his teeth.
“That sounds good.”
“It is.”
Ellie knelt despite Clara trying to push her back.
Her small hand touched Vincent’s sleeve.
“Don’t die.”
He looked at her.
“I’m not planning to.”
“You promised my wishes.”
His vision blurred.
“Still owe you one.”
“Yes.”
“Then I can’t die.”
Ellie nodded fiercely.
“Good.”
Paramedics arrived.
As Vincent was lifted onto a stretcher, officers dragged the wounded attacker past.
Dante had escaped through a service alley.
But not for long.
Every police department on Long Island had his photograph.
Federal warrants were being prepared.
His accounts were frozen.
His allies were abandoning him.
Still, Vincent knew his brother.
Cornered animals were most dangerous at the end.
At the hospital, doctors removed fragments and stitched Vincent’s shoulder.
He refused sedation strong enough to make him sleep.
At midnight, Clara entered his room.
“You should be resting.”
“So should you.”
“Ellie finally fell asleep.”
“Where?”
“On Aldo.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“Punishment for his legal fees.”
Clara sat beside the bed.
For a while neither spoke.
Then she said, “You could have killed Dante.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted to.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Vincent looked toward the rain-streaked hospital window.
“Because Ellie was watching.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“And because I’m tired of pretending the only way men like me can end things is with a body on the floor.”
She reached for his uninjured hand.
Vincent looked at their fingers.
“I don’t deserve you looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m better than I am.”
Clara squeezed his hand.
“I don’t think you’re better than you are.”
He looked at her.
“I think you’re trying to become better than you were.”
Vincent had survived bullets before.
That sentence hurt more.
In the doorway, unseen by either of them, Ellie stood holding Pirate Bear.
She watched Clara lean forward.
Watched Vincent close his eyes as Clara kissed his forehead.
Then Ellie smiled to herself.
May you like
She still had one wish left.
And she had begun to know exactly what she wanted.
