Chapter 2 - The Man Who Came Back
Maggie’s first instinct was not fear.
It was anger.
Someone had photographed her through her own window.
Someone had ordered her not to tell Vincent.
And now someone was crossing the street.
She reached beneath the counter and grabbed the only weapon available.
A pair of pruning shears.
The bell rang.
A young man entered.
Maybe twenty-five.
Expensive coat. Nervous face.
He stopped when he saw the shears.
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
“That sentence has never improved a situation.”
“My name is Daniel.”
“Congratulations.”
“I work for Luca DeSantis.”
Maggie had heard the name.
Everyone in Vincent’s world eventually did.
DeSantis controlled warehouses, construction contracts, nightclubs, and enough politicians that journalists used words like “allegedly” with impressive frequency.
“What does Luca DeSantis want with a florist?”
Daniel swallowed.
“To warn you.”
“About Vincent?”
“About what happens to people Vincent cares about.”
Maggie tightened her grip.
Daniel placed an envelope on the counter.
“Read it.”
“I’d rather not.”
“You need to.”
He backed toward the door.
Maggie waited until the sedan disappeared before opening the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Vincent.
Much younger.
Standing beside another man.
The second man’s face had been violently scratched away.
On the back were four words.
ASK HIM ABOUT ANTHONY.
Maggie stared.
The bell rang again.
She nearly threw the shears.
Vincent entered.
His gaze immediately found the envelope.
“Who was here?”
“Nobody.”
“Maggie.”
“Interesting how annoying that sounds when somebody says it to you.”
He walked to the counter.
She covered the photograph with her hand.
His eyes dropped to it.
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Maggie.”
“Sit.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Sit.”
Vincent Moretti, who reportedly made executives stand while he negotiated acquisitions, sat on a florist’s stool.
Maggie slid the photograph toward him.
The color drained from his face.
“Who gave you this?”
“Daniel. Works for DeSantis.”
Vincent stood so quickly the stool fell.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
He reached for his phone.
Maggie grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
His gaze went to her fingers around his wrist.
She released him.
“Who is Anthony?”
Vincent remained silent for so long she thought he might leave.
Finally he picked up the photograph.
“My brother.”
Maggie hadn't expected that.
“What happened?”
“He died.”
“How?”
“Because of me.”
The simplicity of the answer hurt more than a dramatic confession would have.
Vincent looked toward the roses in the window.
“Anthony was twenty-seven. I was twenty-three. We were both working for my father.”
“What kind of work?”
“You know what kind.”
She did.
“Anthony wanted out. I thought leaving made him weak.”
Vincent’s mouth hardened.
“We fought. He left alone. DeSantis found him before sunrise.”
Maggie’s anger softened.
“You didn't kill your brother.”
“I made sure he was alone when someone else did.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“To me it is.”
She understood something then.
Vincent’s kindness at the nursing home.
His patience with elderly customers.
The sandwiches.
The buckets.
Perhaps ordinary life was not amusing to him.
Perhaps it was the life he thought he had forfeited.
“Why is DeSantis sending me this?”
“To make you afraid of me.”
“Should I be?”
Vincent met her eyes.
“Yes.”
The answer stunned her.
He stepped closer.
“You should be afraid of what follows me.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“It’s the answer you need.”
Maggie shook her head.
“You don't get to decide which answers I need.”
His expression almost softened.
“That is exactly what makes you dangerous to me.”
The words settled between them.
Not dangerous because she could betray him.
Dangerous because he cared.
Maggie understood.
So did Vincent.
His phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
“When?”
Silence.
“I'm coming.”
He hung up.
“What?”
“Daniel never worked for DeSantis.”
Maggie’s stomach dropped.
“Then who was he?”
“We don't know.”
Vincent picked up the photograph.
“And whoever he works for knows things almost nobody alive should know.”
A crash came from the rear storage room.
Both turned.
Maggie whispered, “Nobody’s back there.”
Vincent moved in front of her.
Another crash.
Then silence.
He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.
Maggie stared.
“Stay behind me.”
They crossed the shop.
The storage-room door stood closed.
Vincent reached for the handle.
May you like
It moved before he touched it.
Someone was opening the door from the other side.
