Chapter 4 - The Enemy Inside the House
Vincent arrived at Emma’s apartment sixteen minutes later.
Not sent someone.
Not called.
Arrived.
He walked through the wreckage with two men behind him.
Emma stood near the kitchen counter, still wearing her waitress uniform under a borrowed coat.
Vincent saw the message.
His expression turned cold.
“They want Sofia.”
“Obviously.”
“No.”
Emma looked at him.
“No what?”
“No one gets near my daughter.”
“I agree.”
“You are not going to Union Station.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking whoever did this knows who my mother was.”
“That makes you emotionally compromised.”
Emma laughed.
“And you’re what? Calm?”
Vincent did not answer.
He looked at Marco.
“Get her things.”
“What?”
Emma stepped forward.
“You’re leaving.”
“I live here.”
“Not tonight.”
“You don’t control me.”
“No. But I control who gets through my gates.”
Emma stared at him.
“I’m not staying at your house.”
“Then choose a hotel.”
“With what money?”
Vincent said nothing.
Emma hated that silence.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like you’re about to solve my entire life with your wallet.”
“I was going to offer you a safe room.”
“That’s worse.”
“It has a lock.”
“So does my apartment.”
Vincent looked at the broken door.
“Apparently not.”
Emma wanted to argue.
She was too tired.
An hour later, she was back at the Moretti estate.
Rosa gave her a guest room.
Emma showered.
Changed into sweatpants Rosa found.
Then lay awake staring at the ceiling.
At six in the morning, someone knocked.
Sofia.
Emma opened the door.
The child carried two stuffed animals.
“One is for you.”
Emma smiled.
“Which one?”
“The ugly one.”
“That seems fair.”
Sofia climbed onto the bed.
“Are the bad men coming?”
“No.”
Emma hoped.
“Daddy said no.”
“Then listen to your dad.”
“Do you?”
Emma laughed.
“Almost never.”
Sofia smiled.
Then became serious.
“I remember something.”
Emma sat up.
“What?”
“The cabin.”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“I want to.”
Emma nodded.
Sofia looked at the stuffed animal.
“The man with the scar kept asking about a box.”
“What box?”
“He said Grandpa had hidden it.”
“Your grandfather?”
“I think.”
“What kind of box?”
“Red.”
Emma remembered the wooden box stolen from her apartment.
It had once been red.
Paint worn away over the years until only traces remained near the hinges.
Her stomach tightened.
“Did he say anything else?”
Sofia nodded.
“He said Vivian gave it to the nurse.”
Emma stopped breathing.
“My mother was a nurse.”
Sofia looked up.
“I know.”
Emma stared.
“How do you know?”
“The man said Emma’s mother was the nurse.”
Emma stood so fast Sofia jumped.
“I’m sorry.”
She softened her voice.
“Did he say my name?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly?”
Sofia thought.
“He said, ‘Find Emma Carter before Moretti does.’”
Emma’s skin turned cold.
Before Moretti does.
Vincent had not known her.
Or had he?
She left Sofia with Rosa and walked downstairs.
Vincent was in the study with Carlo.
They stopped talking when she entered.
Emma looked at Vincent.
“Did you know who I was before last night?”
“No.”
“Try again.”
“I didn’t.”
“Sofia heard my name while she was kidnapped.”
Carlo’s face changed.
Vincent looked at him.
“What?”
Emma saw it.
Tiny.
But real.
“You knew.”
Carlo stepped backward.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She says one of the men told someone to find Emma Carter before Moretti did.”
Vincent stood.
His eyes fixed on Carlo.
“You knew her name?”
“No.”
Emma held up the bracelet.
“Vivian Moretti Carter.”
Carlo looked at it.
His voice hardened.
“Put that down.”
Vincent stepped between them.
“Careful.”
Carlo’s eyes flashed.
“That belonged to my wife.”
“Then explain Carter.”
Carlo looked at Emma.
For the first time, there was no nervousness.
Only resentment.
“Your mother stole from us.”
Emma felt as if she had been hit.
“What?”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Carlo.”
“She wants truth. Give her truth.”
Emma stared at him.
“What did my mother steal?”
Carlo laughed without humor.
“Everything.”
“Specific.”
“My wife trusted Rebecca.”
Vincent went still.
“You knew Rebecca Carter?”
Carlo looked at him.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She was Vivian’s nurse after the accident.”
“What accident?”
Carlo looked toward the window.
“Not the one that killed her.”
Emma’s pulse hammered.
Vincent walked around the desk.
“When was my sister injured?”
“1996.”
“That was never in the family records.”
“Because your father erased it.”
“Why?”
Carlo laughed.
“Because Vivian tried to expose him.”
Emma watched Vincent.
His entire understanding of his family seemed to shift.
“Expose what?”
Carlo sat.
For the first time, he looked tired.
“Your father wasn’t just running freight.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“No. You know what he told you.”
Carlo looked at Emma.
“Rebecca worked at a private clinic. Vivian was brought there under a fake name after a car crash.”
“My mother never worked at a private clinic.”
“She did before you were born.”
Emma swallowed.
“Why would she hide that?”
“Because she helped Vivian disappear.”
Vincent stared at him.
“Vivian came back.”
“Yes.”
“Then Rebecca failed.”
“No.”
Carlo’s eyes moved to Emma.
“She succeeded.”
Silence.
Emma felt the room tilt.
“What does that mean?”
Carlo stood.
“Ask your mother.”
“She’s dead.”
“I know.”
“Then answer me.”
Carlo’s face hardened again.
“Rebecca helped Vivian escape with evidence that could have destroyed half the Moretti organization.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“What evidence?”
“I never saw it.”
“The red box?”
Carlo looked at him.
So did Emma.
Vincent continued.
“Sofia heard them talking about a red box.”
Carlo swore quietly.
Emma understood.
“That’s why they broke into my apartment.”
Carlo nodded.
“Your mother kept it.”
“I had a red wooden box.”
Vincent looked at her sharply.
“What was inside?”
“Letters. Family documents. Photos.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Carlo laughed bitterly.
“Then you never found the false bottom.”
Emma’s breath stopped.
False bottom.
Her mother had always told her never to throw the box away.
Never explained why.
“Locker 317,” Emma whispered.
Vincent picked up his coat.
“We’re going.”
Carlo grabbed his arm.
“No.”
Vincent looked at his hand.
Carlo released him.
“They’re waiting.”
“Yes.”
“They asked for Sofia.”
“They’re not getting her.”
“Then they’ll kill Emma.”
Emma looked at him.
“Comforting.”
Carlo ignored her.
“They want the box. If it’s really there, they’ll trade.”
“For what?”
“Silence.”
Vincent stared at him.
“Whose silence?”
Carlo did not answer.
That was enough.
Vincent turned to one of his men.
“Lock the estate.”
Carlo’s face changed.
“What are you doing?”
“No one leaves.”
“Vincent.”
“You knew Rebecca. You knew the bracelet. You knew more about Sofia’s kidnapping than you told me.”
Carlo stepped forward.
“You think I took her?”
“I think you’re going to explain everything.”
Carlo laughed.
Then stopped.
“You still don’t understand.”
“What?”
Carlo looked at Emma.
“The kidnapping wasn’t about Sofia.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
Carlo continued.
“They took her because they knew exactly who would find her.”
Emma whispered, “Me.”
Carlo nodded.
Vincent’s face went hard.
“Who planned it?”
Carlo looked toward the door.
Before he could answer, the lights went out.
An alarm sounded once.
Then stopped.
One of Vincent’s men opened the study door.
A guard was lying unconscious in the hallway.
Vincent drew his gun.
Emma heard glass break somewhere upstairs.
“Sofia.”
She ran.
Vincent followed.
They reached the staircase.
Rosa screamed from the second floor.
Emma took the steps two at a time.
Sofia’s bedroom door stood open.
The bed was empty.
A window had been smashed.
Emma ran to it.
A rope hung down the exterior wall.
Vincent reached her.
His face drained.
Then Emma saw movement beneath the bed.
“Sofia?”
The little girl crawled out.
Emma dropped to her knees.
“You’re okay.”
Sofia shook her head.
“No.”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“They took Uncle Carlo.”
Vincent turned.
His phone buzzed.
A video message appeared.
Carlo was tied to a chair.
Behind him stood the man with the scar.
He smiled at the camera.
Then he lifted Emma’s red wooden box.
“Union Station,” he said.
“Locker 317.”
He looked directly into the lens.
“Bring Emma.”
The screen went black.
Then a final text appeared.
COME ALONE, VINCENT.
Vincent stared at it.
Emma stared at him.
Neither spoke.
Then another message arrived.
May you like
This one contained only a name.
REBECCA CARTER.
