Chapter 4 - THE HOUSE ON BAY RIDGE
Vincent pushed Mave behind the kitchen wall.
Leo aimed toward the staircase.
“Come down slowly.”
A man appeared at the top.
Gray hair.
Long coat.
Shotgun pointed toward the floor.
Vincent’s gun remained raised.
“Frank?”
The man gave a tired smile.
“You look terrible.”
Vincent lowered his weapon slightly.
“Frankie Bell.”
Mave looked between them.
“Friend?”
Vincent considered the question.
“Usually.”
Frank descended.
“I’ve been watching the place since your father died.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody had to.”
His eyes moved to Mave.
For the first time, his expression softened.
“You look like Martin.”
Mave flinched.
“You knew him too?”
Frank nodded.
“He saved my life once.”
Mave’s anger returned.
“Apparently everyone in New York knew my father except me.”
Vincent said quietly, “You knew the part of him he wanted you to know.”
“He was my father. I deserved all of him.”
Nobody answered.
Frank set the shotgun down.
“Salvatore’s moving early.”
Vincent frowned.
“Moving on what?”
“You.”
Silence.
Frank continued.
“Your uncle has six captains behind him. Maybe seven. He’s been telling people you’ve gone soft.”
Leo snorted.
“He had twelve people shot last month.”
Frank shrugged.
“Apparently that’s soft now.”
Mave pressed a towel to Vincent’s ribs.
He winced.
“Sit still.”
“I am sitting still.”
“You’re bleeding aggressively.”
“That’s not a medical term.”
“It is tonight.”
Frank watched them.
Then his eyebrows lifted.
Vincent noticed.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Mave tightened the towel.
Vincent hissed.
“Good.”
He looked offended.
“You enjoyed that.”
“A little.”
For a second, the room almost felt normal.
Then Frank touched the brass key.
“Martin gave this to you?”
“Yes.”
“He told me once that if things went bad, the truth would be where Mave could find it.”
Mave frowned.
“I was thirteen.”
“Exactly.”
She stared at the key.
“My father had a safe-deposit box.”
Vincent straightened.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. My mother closed his accounts after he died.”
Frank shook his head.
“No. Not a bank.”
Mave thought.
Childhood memories moved through her mind.
Sunday mornings.
Her father making pancakes.
Old jazz records.
A summer house near Coney Island.
Then something surfaced.
A blue music box.
Her father had given it to her the Christmas before he died.
Inside was a tiny lock she had never been able to open.
Mave stood.
“My apartment.”
Vincent immediately said, “No.”
“I have something there.”
“What?”
“A music box.”
Leo frowned.
“We’re being hunted over a music box?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent stood despite the blood at his side.
“You are not going back there.”
“It might explain why people are trying to kill me.”
“And they may already be waiting.”
“I’m going.”
“No.”
Mave stepped closer.
“You lied to me for three years. You don’t get to order me around now.”
Vincent’s eyes darkened.
“This isn’t about authority.”
“Sounds exactly like authority.”
“It’s about keeping you alive.”
“I managed that before I met you.”
His voice dropped.
“You don’t understand what Salvatore will do.”
“Then make me understand.”
Vincent stared at her.
Finally, he said, “Salvatore didn’t just kill your father.”
Mave’s breath caught.
Vincent’s face was grim.
“He ordered your mother’s death too.”
Mave went cold.
“My mother died of cancer.”
“No.”
May you like
Vincent shook his head.
“She was poisoned.”
