Chapter 3 - THE ESCAPE
Vincent fired first.
One attacker dropped behind the SUV.
Leo kicked open the front passenger door and returned fire.
“Boss, alley!”
Vincent grabbed Mave’s hand.
“Run.”
They sprinted through the rain.
Mave’s heels slipped on the pavement.
She kicked them off without stopping.
A bullet struck a parked car beside her.
Vincent shoved her behind a delivery truck.
“Stay down.”
“No argument.”
“That would be a first.”
He leaned out and fired.
Mave heard someone yell.
Leo reached them seconds later.
“Two more coming around the corner.”
Vincent looked at the narrow alley behind them.
“Through there.”
They ran.
Garbage bags ripped beneath Mave’s bare feet.
Rain soaked her silk dress.
Behind them, footsteps entered the alley.
“Faster,” Vincent said.
“I’m barefoot!”
“I’ll buy you new feet.”
“That’s not how feet work!”
“Noted.”
Despite everything, Leo laughed once.
They reached a metal security door.
Locked.
Leo kicked it.
Nothing.
Vincent fired into the lock.
“Subtle,” Mave snapped.
“Subtle left when they shot the car.”
They burst into the kitchen of a closed restaurant.
A terrified dishwasher screamed.
Vincent tossed several hundred-dollar bills onto a counter.
“Sorry.”
Then they were through the dining room and out the front entrance.
A taxi sat at the curb.
Vincent opened the driver’s door.
The driver started shouting.
Vincent showed him the gun.
The shouting stopped.
“Out.”
Thirty seconds later, Leo was driving.
Mave sat in the back seat with Vincent.
His shirt was darkening near his ribs.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Men always say that right before passing out.”
“I’m not passing out.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m Italian. This is pale.”
She stared at him.
“That wasn’t funny.”
“I know.”
He pressed a hand to his side.
Mave saw blood between his fingers.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere they don’t know.”
“You said they’re inside your organization. How do you know what they know?”
“I don’t.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Vincent leaned his head back.
“We’re not going to my apartment. Not your apartment. Not one of my regular properties.”
“Then where?”
“My mother’s old house in Brooklyn.”
Leo glanced in the mirror.
“I thought you sold it.”
“So does everyone else.”
Twenty minutes later, the taxi stopped beside an abandoned brownstone.
Vincent paid the driver enough money to erase his curiosity.
Inside, the house smelled like dust and old wood.
Leo checked every room.
Vincent locked the door.
Mave turned on him immediately.
“No more half answers.”
“Mave—”
“My father was murdered. People are shooting at me because they think I have something he stole. You hired me because you knew who I was. Start talking.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then he took off his blood-soaked jacket.
“Your father found evidence that someone was stealing from my father.”
“Money?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
Vincent sat heavily at the kitchen table.
“Then Martin found something worse.”
Mave crossed her arms.
“What?”
“Payments. Women. Girls. Transportation records.”
Her face changed.
“No.”
“My father had rules. Drugs were business. Gambling was business. Extortion was business. But trafficking was forbidden.”
“And someone inside the Costa family was doing it anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Vincent looked at her.
“My uncle.”
Mave’s stomach tightened.
“Salvatore Costa?”
Vincent nodded.
“He found out your father was collecting proof.”
“And killed him.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes burned.
Vincent looked away.
“There’s more.”
Mave laughed bitterly.
“Of course there is.”
“Your father knew he was going to die.”
Vincent reached inside his shirt.
He removed a thin chain.
A tiny brass key hung from it.
Mave stared.
“I’ve seen that before.”
Vincent placed it on the table.
“Your father gave it to me the night before he was killed.”
Her voice dropped.
“What does it open?”
Vincent looked toward the dark window.
“That’s the problem.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Leo raised his gun.
Vincent went still.
No one was supposed to know they were there.
Then a voice came from the second floor.
“Actually, Vincent…”
May you like
A shotgun clicked.
“I know exactly what it opens.”
