Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF FAMILYCelia stopped so suddenly that Vincent nearly collided with her.
The service tunnel was narrow, lined with damp concrete and old electrical pipes. Ahead, two guards pushed Leo’s medical stretcher toward the neighboring hotel. Behind them, the concealed door sealed shut, cutting off the distant noise of the FBI raid.
“What happened?” Vincent asked.
Celia showed him the photograph.
His eyes moved over the image once.
Then his expression became lethal.
“When was this sent?”
“Ten seconds ago.”
“Call her.”
Celia’s fingers shook as she tapped her mother’s number.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Come on, Mom.”
A woman answered, but it was not Celia’s mother.
“Celia?”
The voice belonged to Mrs. Ramirez, her mother’s neighbor.
“Where’s my mother?”
“She’s here with me. Someone broke into her apartment. I heard glass and called through the wall. When she didn’t answer, I used the spare key.”
“Is she hurt?”
“She’s frightened. There was a man standing over her bed, but he ran down the fire escape when I started screaming.”
Celia leaned against the tunnel wall, weak with relief.
“Put her on.”
A moment later, her mother’s tired voice came through.
“Celia, sweetheart, what’s happening?”
Celia closed her eyes.
Margaret Jace had survived breast cancer, fourteen months of chemotherapy and a health-care system that treated poverty like a moral failure. She had thin silver hair now and a permanent tremor in her left hand, but her voice still carried the same stubborn warmth Celia remembered from childhood.
“I’m okay, Mom.”
“You don’t sound okay.”
“I need you to go somewhere safe with Mrs. Ramirez. Don’t return to the apartment.”
“Are you in trouble?”
Celia looked at Vincent.
He was already typing instructions into another phone.
“I helped someone tonight,” she said. “Some bad people don’t like that.”
Her mother was quiet.
“You sound like your father.”
Celia stiffened.
“We’ll talk later.”
“You always say that when his name comes up.”
“This isn’t the time.”
“No, it never is.”
A guard opened a door at the end of the tunnel, revealing a hotel laundry room.
Vincent motioned for Celia to keep moving.
“Mom, listen to me. A car is coming for you.”
“What car?”
“A safe one.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Vincent took the phone gently from Celia.
“Mrs. Jace, my name is Vincent Romano.”
Celia tried to grab it back, but he turned away.
“Your daughter saved my son’s life. Because of that, my enemies have placed you in danger. A woman named Evelyn Park will arrive with federal identification. Go with her. She will take you to a secure medical residence.”
Celia stared at him.
Her mother said something Vincent did not expect.
His expression changed.
“Mrs. Jace, how do you know that name?”
Celia’s breath caught.
Vincent listened for several seconds.
Then the call ended.
“What did she say?” Celia demanded.
Vincent handed back the phone.
“She asked whether I was Anthony Romano’s son.”
Celia frowned.
“Who’s Anthony?”
“My father.”
The laundry room suddenly felt colder.
“How would my mother know your father?”
Vincent looked toward Leo.
“Ask her when she is safe.”
“No. Tell me what you know.”
“I know nothing yet.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m withholding a conclusion.”
“That’s a sophisticated way of lying.”
One of Vincent’s guards entered from the hotel corridor.
“Vehicles are ready.”
They moved through the service area and into an underground loading dock. Three ordinary-looking vans waited near the exit. No armored Suburbans, no dark-suited convoy.
Leo’s stretcher was loaded into the middle van.
Celia climbed in beside him. Vincent joined them.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Teterboro Airport.”
“The FBI controls the airports.”
“Not all of them.”
The vans left separately.
Inside, medical equipment hummed around Leo. A young paramedic monitored his breathing. Vincent sat across from Celia, the ledger case secured to his wrist with a steel cable.
Celia studied him.
“Your father knew my mother.”
“Possibly.”
“What did Anthony Romano do?”
Vincent looked through the tinted window.
“Many things I spent my life trying not to become.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“He controlled the family from New York to Chicago. He believed fear was more reliable than love.”
“And you don’t?”
“I believe fear is easier.”
Celia glanced at Leo.
“He’s afraid of you sometimes.”
Vincent’s eyes returned to her.
“How would you know?”
“Children watch faces. Leo watches yours before he speaks, like he’s checking which version of you is in the room.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“You’ve known him less than two hours.”
“Sometimes two hours is enough.”
The van slowed suddenly.
The driver cursed.
Traffic had stopped ahead.
Police lights reflected from nearby buildings.
“Checkpoint,” the driver said through the partition. “They’re searching vehicles.”
Vincent checked his phone.
“Simon reported Leo abducted.”
“By whom?” Celia asked.
“By me.”
She stared at him.
The news report appeared on Vincent’s screen. A photograph of Leo filled the display beside the words AMBER ALERT. Beneath it was security footage showing Vincent’s men pulling Celia into the SUV.
The announcer described Vincent Romano as an armed suspect fleeing with his own son and a kidnapped witness.
“This is insane,” Celia said.
“It is effective.”
The vans turned into a parking structure.
“We’ll change vehicles,” Vincent said.
Leo stirred.
“Celia?”
She leaned close.
“I’m here.”
“My hands feel funny.”
The paramedic checked his vitals.
“Sensation may be returning.”
“Is that good?” Leo asked.
“It’s very good.”
His fingers moved weakly.
Celia smiled at him.
Leo looked toward Vincent.
“Papa, did Uncle Simon hurt Mama?”
The van fell silent.
Vincent’s face lost all color.
“Why would you ask that?”
“The flower lady said Uncle Simon made Mama go away because she found the red book.”
Vincent looked down at the ledger case.
“This book?”
Leo nodded.
“She said Mama hid something inside it.”
Vincent unlocked the steel cable and opened the case. He flipped through the ledger rapidly, searching every page.
“What are you looking for?” Celia asked.
“My wife’s handwriting.”
Near the back cover, his fingers stopped.
A small section of leather appeared slightly raised.
Vincent pulled a knife from his pocket and cut along the seam.
Inside the cover was a memory card.
Celia’s phone rang again.
Simon.
Vincent answered on speaker.
“You found Elena’s little gift,” Simon said.
Vincent’s hand closed around the memory card.
“You killed her.”
“I tried to save this family from her.”
“She was my wife.”
“She was going to give everything to the government.”
“Where is Sterling?”
“Chicago.”
“And the antidote?”
“With him.”
Vincent’s eyes darkened.
“You’ll have the ledger.”
“No,” Simon replied. “Celia will bring it.”
Celia felt every person in the van look at her.
“Why me?” she asked.
Simon laughed softly.
“Because your mother never told you who your father really was.”
The line disconnected.
Celia stared at Vincent.
“My father was a construction worker. He died in an accident when I was twelve.”
Vincent looked at the memory card, then at Celia.
“Your father’s name was Daniel Jace?”
“Yes.”
“I know that name.”
“From where?”
Vincent opened the ledger to a page dated twelve years earlier.
Beside a payment record was a photograph of Daniel Jace.
May you like
Underneath it, Anthony Romano had written three words.
TRAITOR. SILENCED. CHICAGO.
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