Chapter 3 - THE SILVER WATCH
The freezing wind on the sidewalk suddenly felt non-existent. The world narrowed down to the faded photograph in my trembling hand.
"That's a lie," I whispered, stepping back from Vincent. My voice was surprisingly fierce. "My father died of complications from diabetes. His kidneys failed because he lost his insurance and couldn't afford his treatments. He wasn't involved with... people like you."
"People like me," Vincent repeated. There was no anger in his voice, only a heavy, exhausted acceptance. "He wasn't. Your father was a high school math teacher, Emily. A good man who happened to be walking past a loading dock in Queens on a Tuesday night when two men tried to put a bullet in the back of my head."
Vincent took a step forward, closing the distance between us. I didn't retreat this time.
"Thomas shouted," Vincent continued. "He threw his briefcase. He distracted them just long enough for me to draw my own weapon. I survived. The men who tried to kill me went to prison. But they were part of the Moretti family. And the Morettis don't forgive civilians who interfere in their business."
"They ruined him," I breathed out, the pieces of my past suddenly realigning into a terrifying new picture.
"They couldn't touch him physically, because I put a guard on him," Vincent said. "So they destroyed him quietly. They hacked his bank accounts. They framed him for a school embezzlement scandal that cost him his pension. They ensured every medical provider dropped him. I tried to give him money, Emily. Millions. But Thomas Carter was too proud, and too afraid that taking DeLuca money would put a target on you."
Tears stung my eyes, blurring the photograph. My father had spent his last three years apologizing to me for being a burden, for losing his savings, for forcing me to give up my teaching degree to pay his medical bills. He had carried the weight of a mafia war on his shoulders, all while grading algebra papers at the kitchen table.
"Why tell me this now?" I demanded, wiping a tear from my cheek. "He's been dead for three years. Why tonight?"
"Because the man Thomas helped put in prison, Carlo Moretti, was released on parole this morning," Vincent said. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools in the street light. "And my mother received a phone call this afternoon saying Carlo has been asking exactly where Thomas Carter's daughter works."
A cold spike of pure terror drove straight through my chest.
Not for me.
For Leo.
"My nephew," I gasped, dropping the coat. "Leo. He's at my neighbor's apartment. If they know where I work, they know where I live."
Vincent moved faster than I thought a man his size could. He caught the coat before it hit the dirty snow. He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but careful. "Get in the car."
I didn't argue. I didn't think about the fact that I was getting into a vehicle with a crime boss. I just ran.
The ride to my apartment in Washington Heights was a blur of flashing traffic lights and Vincent barking orders into a secure phone. He didn't speak to me until the car screeched to a halt outside my crumbling brick building.
I threw the door open and sprinted up the three flights of stairs, Vincent right behind me.
I hammered on Mrs. Gable's door. The elderly woman opened it, looking sleepy and confused in her floral robe.
"Emily? You're early. Leo is asleep on the couch."
I pushed past her. Leo was there, curled up under a worn blanket, his thumb near his mouth, completely unharmed. I dropped to my knees and buried my face in his small chest, breathing in the scent of his strawberry shampoo.
"Aunt Em?" Leo mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"I'm here, buddy," I whispered, my voice breaking. "We have to go on a little trip. Just you and me."
When I carried Leo out into the hallway, Mrs. Gable was staring at Vincent, her eyes wide with fear. Vincent was holding something out to her—a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.
"Go visit your sister in Florida, Mrs. Gable," Vincent said quietly. "Tonight."
Ten minutes later, we were back in the town car, speeding away from the only home Leo had ever known. Leo fell back asleep against my shoulder.
"Where are you taking us?" I asked, staring out the tinted window.
"My mother's estate in Westchester," Vincent said. "It's secure. You'll be safe there."
"I can't just hide forever," I said bitterly. "I have no job. I have a child to feed."
"You have a job," Vincent replied. "My daughter, Mia, is eight. She needs a private tutor. The pay is whatever you want it to be, and you'll live on the estate. Leo will have a safe place to play."
It was a lifeline. But it felt like a cage.
I looked at him. "You're doing this out of guilt."
Vincent didn't deny it. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He placed it on the leather seat between us.
"When Thomas refused my money, he came to see me one last time," Vincent said softly. "He told me he was out of options, and he needed a loan to buy insulin. He wouldn't take a handout, so he gave me collateral."
I opened the box with trembling fingers.
Inside was a heavy, silver pocket watch. The glass was scratched, and the hands were frozen at 3:15.
It was my grandfather's watch. The one my dad told me he had lost on the subway.
"He told me to keep it until he could pay me back," Vincent said. "I'm returning it to you."
I traced the cold silver metal, my heart breaking all over again. But as I pressed my thumb against the back casing, something clicked.
The back panel of the watch popped open.
Vincent frowned, leaning forward. "What is that?"
I looked down. There was no gear mechanism inside the back panel. Instead, tightly folded into a tiny square, was a small, green piece of paper.
I pulled it out and unfolded it.
May you like
It was a baggage claim ticket for Grand Central Station.
Written on the back, in my father's unmistakable, precise handwriting, was one sentence: For Emily, when the wolves come back.
