Chapter 2 - Safe House on Prairie
The Prairie Avenue estate was a brick fortress built by my grandfather in the 1920s, fitted with reinforced steel shutters, bulletproof glass, and an underground bunker system that could withstand a military siege.
When I pulled the sedan into the heated subterranean garage, Michael was already waiting, flanked by four armed operatives and Doc Reynolds, an elderly surgeon who owed his medical license—and his life—to the Caruso family.
As soon as I killed the engine, Bear sat up on his hind legs, a soft rumble of warning rising from his chest.
"Easy, boy," I murmured, placing a heavy hand on his head. "We're safe."
I opened the driver's door and carefully lifted the little girl into my arms. She stirred slightly, a tiny whimper escaping her lips, her small fingers instinctively grasping the lapel of my heavy wool coat. Bear hopped out of the car right behind us, staying glued to my heel, his teeth bared slightly at the guards.
Michael’s eyes widened as he looked at the child, then at the skeletal dog pacing beside me.
"Vincent... who is she?" Michael asked, stepping forward.
"Call off the guards, Michael," I ordered. "Keep the perimeter tight. No one leaves the property without my personal authorization."
We moved up the private elevator directly to the third-floor master suite. The room was warm, illuminated by a roaring marble fireplace. Doc Reynolds set his medical bag on the table while I gently laid the girl onto the oversized king bed.
She looked so fragile against the white linen sheets, her yellow sweater stained with soot and grease, her worn boots dripping melted snow onto the floor. Bear immediately jumped onto the edge of the bed, curling himself tightly around her feet, watching Doc Reynolds with hawkish intensity.
"Let the dog stay," I told the doctor as he reached for his stethoscope. "He earned his place."
Reynolds performed a rapid, efficient examination, checking her pulse, lungs, and pupils while the nurse gently slid off her wet boots.
"Severe exhaustion, mild hypothermia, and early stages of malnutrition," Reynolds concluded, pulling the heavy duvet over her shoulders. "She’s had a rough few months, Vincent. But no broken bones, no major internal trauma. She needs sleep, warm fluids, and high-calorie food."
"And her mind?" I asked, standing by the foot of the bed.
"Children are resilient," Reynolds said softly, wiping his glasses. "But whatever she saw tonight... it’s going to stay with her. I gave her a mild pediatric sedative in the saline drip to keep the nightmares away until morning."
I nodded. "Thank you, Doc. Michael will see you to the guest quarters."
When the room cleared, leaving only Michael, myself, and the dog, I pulled a heavy armchair to the side of the bed and sat down. I reached into my pocket and set Gabriel’s silver ring on the nightstand beside a vase of fresh water.
Michael stared at the emblem under the lamplight, his breath catching in his throat.
"That's... that's Gabriel's crest," Michael whispered, looking from the ring to the child sleeping peacefully on the bed. "My God, Vincent. Is she...?"
"She's Gabriel's daughter," I confirmed, my voice thick with suppressed emotion. "He survived seventeen years ago. He hid in plain sight, right here under our noses in the industrial district."
"How could Vance have found him after all this time?" Michael asked, pacing near the window. "Marcus Vance hasn't pushed into the west precinct in five years."
"Because Marcus is dying," I said flatly, the pieces of the puzzle locking together in my mind. "Vance has prostate cancer—my informants inside his house confirmed it last month. He has less than six months to live. He’s clearing up old debts, wiping out potential threats to his son's succession. He wanted Gabriel dead before he passed the reins to Julian Vance."
Michael stopped pacing. "If Marcus knows Gabriel had a child, he’ll know she carries a claim to both the Caruso holdings and the Vance territory through her mother Elena."
"He doesn't just know," I said, leaning forward and resting my chin against my laced fingers. "He thinks he can eliminate her before I find out who she is."
I looked at the little girl. Her breathing had slowed into a steady, deep rhythm under the influence of the medicine.
"He was wrong," I whispered. "Michael, call the lieutenants. Every captain from North Avenue to the river. Tell them the boss is calling a full council at midnight."
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Michael looked startled. "A full council? We haven't convened the captains in three years, Vincent. It will trigger a panic on the street."
"Let them panic," I snapped softly, my eyes fixed on my niece. "Marcus Vance lit a fire in my city tonight. By morning, I’m going to extinguish his entire bloodline."
