Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
“Close the front doors.”
The command left Vincent Romano’s lips without a trace of anger. It was soft. Level. And completely terrifying.
Before Sabrina could even gasp, the two security men in dark suits moved. One stepped smoothly to the revolving glass doors, locking the secondary deadbolt with a sharp, heavy click. The other positioned himself near the service hallway.
The rehabilitation lobby, usually bustling with morning discharges, fell into a breathless silence.
“Vincent, this is absurd,” Sabrina said, her voice tight, the smooth, expensive cadence completely gone. “You are locking down a hospital over a piece of trash found in a wheelchair.”
“It’s a photograph of my dead brother, Sabrina,” Vincent said, his eyes never leaving hers. “And you recognized it before you even saw the front.”
Sabrina’s cream heels shifted on the marble floor. She looked around, realizing how many eyes were on her. “I didn’t recognize it. I was just shocked.”
“Where did you get it, Ma?” Vincent asked, turning back to Evelyn.
Evelyn’s hands were trembling violently in her lap. She looked at me, a silent plea in her eyes. I didn't step back. I stayed kneeling beside her chair.
“I didn't find it,” Evelyn whispered, her voice cracking. “It was slipped under my door last night. Right after Sabrina left to make her phone call.”
Sabrina’s face went completely white. “She’s confused, Vincent. The medication—”
“She’s not on medication, Sabrina,” Vincent interrupted. The temperature in the lobby seemed to drop ten degrees. “Her doctors took her off the painkillers three days ago.”
He held the old, creased photograph up to the lobby lights. The ink on the back—SHE KNOWS WHO BETRAYED MARCO—seemed to bleed into the paper.
Twelve years ago, Marco Romano was killed in a warehouse fire on the South Side. The police called it an accident. The Romano family knew it was a hit. But they never found out who sold Marco out to a rival family.
Until now.
“The address,” Vincent said, looking back at his mother. “You said it’s the house where Marco spent his last night.”
“Yes,” Evelyn cried. “It was Sabrina’s old apartment in Lincoln Park. The one she lived in before she met you.”
A collective gasp went through the few hospital staff members still frozen in the lobby.
Sabrina wasn't just Vincent's fiancée. She had known his brother.
“That’s a lie!” Sabrina shrieked, all pretense of elegance vanishing. “I didn't even live in Chicago twelve years ago! I was in New York! You know that, Vincent!”
Vincent didn't look convinced. He looked like a man watching a very expensive illusion fall apart.
“Check her bag,” Vincent ordered his security chief.
Sabrina clutched her designer purse to her chest. “Don't you dare touch me!”
The security man didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, grabbing the bag by the strap. Sabrina fought him, her manicured nails digging into the leather, but he easily pulled it away and unzipped it.
He didn't pull out a gun. He didn't pull out wire cutters.
He pulled out a heavy, silver watch.
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat.
I recognized the look on his face. It was the look of a man seeing a ghost.
“That’s Marco’s,” Vincent whispered, taking the watch from his guard. “He was wearing this the night he died. The police said it melted in the fire.”
He turned the watch over. The back casing wasn't melted. It was perfectly intact, engraved with the initials M.R.
Sabrina backed away until her spine hit the reception desk.
“You cut the brake, Sabrina,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Because my mother recognized you from twelve years ago, and she finally remembered where she saw you.”
“No!” Sabrina screamed, pointing a shaking finger at me. “It was her! The maid! She planted the watch! She set this whole thing up!”
I froze. I didn't even have a purse. My uniform didn't have pockets big enough to hide a watch.
“She’s lying,” I said, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart.
“Am I?” Sabrina snapped, her eyes wild with panic. “Then why did she know exactly where to look for the cut cable? Why did she know about the blue paint?”
Vincent looked at me. The suspicion in his dark eyes was terrifying.
But before he could ask a question, Evelyn reached out and grabbed my hand.
“Rachel didn't plant it,” Evelyn said firmly. “Because Rachel wasn't here last night. She doesn't work the night shift.”
Vincent looked at the maintenance supervisor, who nodded quickly in confirmation.
Sabrina was trapped. But a cornered animal is the most dangerous kind.
She reached into the pocket of her tailored cream coat.
May you like
She didn't pull out a phone.
She pulled out a small, black revolver.
