Chapter 5 - The Man Who Sold Them
Dr. Rafael Moretti sat in Vincent’s office with his hands tied behind his back and blood on his lower lip.
He had been a kind man once.
That was what Theresa kept telling herself as she stood outside the office doors, listening to his voice shake through the wood.
“I had debts,” Moretti said.
Vincent’s answer was calm. Too calm.
“Everyone has debts.”
“They threatened my daughter.”
“And so you sold mine?”
Theresa pushed through the door before anyone could stop her.
Vincent stood behind his desk, jacket removed, his wounded arm bandaged beneath a black shirt. Enzo was near the window. Moretti sat in a chair beneath a harsh pool of light.
When he saw Theresa, he began to cry.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared at him.
“You helped bring Mateo into this world,” she said.
“I know.”
“You held him before I did.”
“I know.”
“And you told Marco where we were.”
Moretti broke.
“He found me six months ago. He knew my daughter was in college. He knew her apartment, her classes. He said if I didn’t report to him, she would disappear.”
“You could have come to me,” Vincent said.
Moretti laughed bitterly. “To the Ice King?”
Vincent’s eyes darkened.
Theresa stepped closer to Moretti. “What does Marco want?”
“The key.”
“Where is he?”
Moretti looked at Vincent, then at Theresa.
“He thinks the key is in the music box.”
Theresa felt the room tilt.
“My luggage.”
Enzo was already moving. “I’ll check it.”
“No,” Theresa said. “I know where it is.”
She ran.
The guest suite looked untouched. Her suitcase rested on the bed, half-open from the hurried move downstairs. She tore through clothes, toiletries, Mateo’s books.
Nothing.
Then she found the blue music box lying on the floor.
The lid had been forced open.
Empty.
For ten years, the key had been hidden beneath the velvet lining.
Now the lining was ripped away.
Vincent entered behind her.
“It’s gone,” she said.
“I know.”
Her knees weakened. Vincent caught her before she hit the floor.
“Marco has it,” she whispered. “He has the ledger.”
“Not yet.”
She looked at him.
Vincent’s expression was grim. “A key is useless without the lock.”
She stared at the music box.
“There was a message inside,” she said. “My mother used to wind it, and it played a song. She always said it was from her childhood.”
Vincent took the box carefully. The tiny metal cylinder inside had been disturbed, but not removed.
“Can you remember the song?”
Theresa closed her eyes.
A melody surfaced—soft, sad, a lullaby her mother sang during thunderstorms.
Then she remembered something else.
Her mother’s words.
When the music stops, listen to what remains.
“The church,” Theresa said suddenly.
Vincent looked at her.
“St. Agnes. The old church in Brooklyn. My mother used to take me there every Sunday. There was a brass plaque under the altar with the same crest from the letter.”
Enzo’s phone rang.
He answered, listened, then cursed under his breath.
“What?” Vincent asked.
“Marco sent a message.”
Enzo turned the screen toward them.
It was a video.
Mateo sat in the backseat of a moving car, frightened but alive. A man’s hand rested on his shoulder.
Theresa’s scream tore out of her.
Vincent grabbed the phone.
Marco’s voice came through the speakers.
“Bring the ledger to St. Agnes at midnight. Come alone, Vincent. Or your son learns what happens when fathers keep secrets.”
The video ended.
For a second, Vincent did not move.
Then he placed the phone on the dresser with terrifying care.
Theresa grabbed his arm. “We call the police.”
“No.”
“Vincent—”
“Marco has police on his payroll. He always has.”
“We cannot just do this your way!”
His eyes flashed. “My way is getting him back.”
“And if Marco kills you?”
Vincent’s face softened.
“Then he will have to kill me trying.”
Theresa slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
Enzo looked away.
Vincent did not react. He simply stood there, accepting it.
Tears blurred Theresa’s vision.
“Do not say that,” she whispered. “Do not make me lose you twice.”
For the first time, Vincent looked at her not as an enemy, not as the woman who had left him, but as the woman who had loved him enough to run.
He touched her wrist.
“I’m bringing our son home,” he said.
Then he looked at Enzo.
“Get every loyal man we have. Quietly.”
Theresa wiped her face.
“And me?”
Vincent shook his head. “You stay here.”
“No.”
“Theresa.”
“You spent ten years angry that I made decisions without you.” Her chin lifted. “You don’t get to make this one without me.”
Vincent stared at her.
At last, he nodded.
May you like
“Then stay close.”
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