Chapter 5: Via Serena
"Stay inside," Vincent said.
"Don't open the door."
"I can see them from the window.
Two of them.
They're not police."
"I know.
Carmen, listen to me carefully.
Is Isabella with you?"
"She's here.
She's getting ready for school.
She doesn't know—"
"Good.
Keep it that way." He was already standing, already moving.
"I'm sending Marco.
He'll be there in eight minutes.
When he knocks, he'll say Via Serena.
That's how you know it's him.
Open the door, take Isabella, take nothing else.
Can you do that?"
A silence.
"Carmen."
"Yes," she said.
"Yes, I can do that."
He called Marco before he reached the bottom of the stairs.
The eight minutes felt like something else entirely.
Vincent stood at the tall window on the ground floor and watched the iron gates and thought about the Moretti family's patience, which was legendary and which he had underestimated by approximately one evening.
His phone buzzed.
Marco: *We have them.
En route to Via Serena.*
He let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.
Via Serena was a building Vincent owned under a company name that had no visible connection to him.
Three floors, six apartments, all empty except the top unit, which he had kept furnished since the last time he needed somewhere quiet and untrackable.
The staff who maintained it knew only that it belonged to a private investor who valued discretion.
Nobody in the Moretti network had ever connected it to Vincent Torino.
He was there when Marco's car pulled into the narrow side street.
Carmen stepped out first.
Her coat was buttoned wrong — she'd done it in a hurry, in the dark, without looking.
Isabella came next, her school bag on her back, her expression carefully neutral in the way children's expressions go neutral when they know something is wrong and have decided not to ask about it yet.
She saw Vincent standing at the building entrance.
She stopped walking.
"You're here," she said.
"I'm here."
"Are we in trouble?"
"No." He held the door open.
"You're going to stay somewhere safe for a few days.
That's all."
Isabella looked at him for a moment with those steady, assessing eyes that seemed too old for her face.
"Is it because of last night?" she asked.
Carmen made a small sound.
"No," Vincent said.
"It has nothing to do with last night."
Isabella seemed to weigh this.
"Okay," she said, and walked inside.
Carmen followed.
She paused beside him in the doorway.
"Tell me what's happening," she said quietly.
Flat.
Not a request.
"Later."
"Now."
He looked at her.
"Some people are asking questions about people close to me," he said.
"I'm making sure you're not in a position where they can ask you directly."
"What kind of people?"
"The kind I deal with."
"And Isabella?"
"Is the reason I'm moving quickly."
Carmen held his gaze for three full seconds.
"If this is because of the pantry," she said, "if finding her there made us a target—"
"It didn't."
"You're certain?"
"The people asking questions were already asking before last night.
This is about the docks.
It has nothing to do with Isabella." He paused.
"But it means I can't leave you where they can find you.
Not right now."
She nodded slowly.
"How long?"
"A few days.
Maybe less."
"I have work."
"You have a promotion," he said.
"The head of household staff doesn't have to be in the house every day."
Something flickered in her expression.
Not quite a smile.
She went inside.
Marco appeared at Vincent's shoulder.
"The two men outside her building," Vincent said.
"Already handled.
They won't be reporting back tonight."
"And the payroll leak?"
Marco's expression shifted.
"That's the part you need to hear."
Vincent turned to face him fully.
"It wasn't sold," Marco said.
"It was given.
Voluntarily." He paused.
"By Rosario."
Rosario had worked in Vincent's house for eleven years.
He had been at the table at three different family funerals.
Vincent said nothing for a long moment.
"Bring him to the office," he said finally.
"Tonight."
"He's already gone.
Packed a bag this morning before anyone noticed."
The street was very quiet around them.
"Then find him," Vincent said.
"And when you do—" He stopped.
Looked up at the lit window on the third floor where Isabella's shadow moved briefly across the glass.
"Bring him to me first.
I want to hear it from him."
Marco nodded and left.
Vincent stayed on the street a moment longer, looking up at that window.
The shadow had stopped moving.
She was probably standing there, looking down, wondering what kind of man stood outside in the cold and watched over people he barely knew.
May you like
He didn't have a good answer for that.
He went inside.
