Chapter 4 - THE COAT
I stared at the crumpled ultrasound photo in my trembling hand.
Vincent had been in my coat pocket.
He had stood in my personal space, violated my privacy, and placed this picture inside a four-year-old’s jacket just to prove he could touch anything we loved.
Dominic walked into the mudroom. He saw the photo in my hand.
He didn't yell. He didn't break anything. The quiet fury radiating from him was far more terrifying than any shout.
“Pack a bag for Lily,” Dominic said, his voice flat. Dead.
“Where are we going?”
“To the underground safehouse in the city. Nobody knows the location. Not even my lieutenants.”
“Dominic, we can’t just run. If Vincent blew up a plane, he has people everywhere. He’ll follow us.”
“I will not wait here for him to slaughter my family!” Dominic snapped, his control finally fracturing. He pointed at my stomach. “He killed Elena to punish me. He wants to finish the job with you.”
“I’m not Elena.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Dominic froze. The anger in his eyes shifted into a deep, agonizing pain.
“I know you’re not,” he whispered, looking away.
“Dominic, look at me.” I stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. “Vincent wants you panicked. He wants you making mistakes. If we run into the dark, we play his game.”
“Then what do you suggest, Norah?” he asked bitterly. “Wait for him to kick the door in?”
“No.”
I looked at the pink coat hanging on the hook.
I thought about the silver bracelet I had seen on Vincent’s wrist.
“When Vincent hugged Lily today, I saw a bracelet on his wrist,” I said. “Silver. Delicate. It looked like a woman’s.”
Dominic frowned, confused by the pivot. “Elena’s charm bracelet. She never took it off. Vincent claimed it from the coroner after the crash.”
“Why would a grown man wear his dead sister’s delicate jewelry every single day?” I asked.
“Because he’s obsessed with her memory. Because he’s insane.”
“Or because he’s guilty.”
Dominic stared at me. “What are you saying?”
“You told me Vincent blames you for Elena’s death. You told me the syndicate rivals ran her off the road.” I took a deep breath. “But Dominic… what if they didn’t?”
“I saw the police report, Norah. The car was run off a cliff.”
“By who?”
“They never caught the driver.”
I held up the ultrasound photo. “Vincent knew I was pregnant. He knew about the clinic. He blew up a plane within an hour of you booking it. The man has eyes everywhere.”
I stepped closer to him.
“If Vincent is that powerful, why didn’t he ever find the men who killed his sister?”
Dominic stopped breathing.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. His eyes widened as the pieces of a five-year-old puzzle violently shifted into a new, horrifying picture.
Vincent didn’t hunt Elena’s killers because there was no one to hunt.
“He was driving the other car,” Dominic whispered, his voice trembling with a rage so profound it made the air in the room feel heavy. “Vincent killed her.”
Before we could process the revelation, the landline in the kitchen began to ring.
Not a cell phone. The secure, encrypted landline that only three people in the world had the number to.
Dominic walked slowly into the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
He put it on speaker.
“Hello, Dominic.”
Vincent’s voice filled the room.
“You have three seconds to hang up before I trace this call and send a hit squad to your location, Vincent.”
“You won’t do that,” Vincent chuckled. “Because I have something you want.”
“You have nothing I want.”
“Oh? Why don’t you check the playroom?”
Dominic’s blood ran cold.
He dropped the phone on the counter and sprinted toward the stairs. I followed him, my heart in my throat.
We burst into the upstairs playroom.
Maria, the housekeeper, was lying on the floor, unconscious.
The window was wide open, the cold evening wind blowing the curtains wildly.
And Lily was gone.
A child’s drawing of a rainbow fluttered on the floor near the window sill.
I picked it up.
On the back, written in sharp, elegant handwriting, were four words:
Bring the pregnant nanny.
Dominic fell to his knees beside the open window, staring out into the dark estate grounds. His security perimeter had been breached silently. His daughter had been taken from inside her own home.
A guttural, primal roar tore from Dominic’s chest. It was the sound of a man breaking completely in half.
I stood holding the drawing, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
I looked down at my stomach.
Vincent didn’t want Dominic’s life.
He wanted a trade.
A child for a child.
I walked over to Dominic and placed my hand on his shoulder.
“Get your coat,” I said, my voice eerily calm despite the tears streaming down my face.
May you like
Dominic looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and wild. “I am not trading you to him, Norah. I will kill every man in his compound. I will burn the city down.”
“You’re going to do exactly what he asks,” I said, pulling the oversized sweater tight around my body. “Because I am going to get your daughter back.”
