Chapter 4 - THE GOLD WATCH AND THE GUNFIRE
Glass rained across the living room like ice.
“Get down!” Vincent roared.
He tackled me to the floor just as a second brick smashed through the window, carrying a heavy rock tied with a note.
My mother screamed, covering her head with the quilt. The oxygen machine beeped frantically, the tube tangling around her arm.
I scrambled across the floor on my hands and knees, ignoring the sharp shards biting into my palms. I reached the side of the bed and pulled my mother down as far as the mattress would allow.
“Are you hurt? Mom, are you okay?” I touched her face. She was trembling violently, her breathing shallow and rapid.
“I’m fine,” she gasped.
Vincent was crouching by the broken window, peering into the dark street below. “Three men,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “They’re trying to flush us out.”
He walked over and picked up the rock that had been thrown through the glass. Tied to it with a piece of twine was a heavy, vintage gold watch.
Vincent’s face hardened. He untied the watch and tossed it onto the floor beside me.
I stared at it. The crystal face was cracked.
“What is that?” I whispered.
“It was my father’s watch,” Vincent said. “Carmine is sending a message. Time is up.”
“We have to call the police,” I said, reaching for my phone.
Vincent grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the blood on his hands. “Emily, Carmine owns the precinct. If you call 911, the men who show up will be the ones who put a bullet in your head.”
I looked into his eyes. There was no arrogance left. Only the terrifying reality of a man who had finally lost control of his own empire.
“My nephew is in that house,” Vincent said, his voice cracking. “Leo’s parents died three years ago. I’m the only one protecting him. If Carmine finds the ledgers, he kills the boy to ensure there are no heirs left to challenge him.”
“Then we get the boy,” I said. The words surprised even me.
Vincent looked at me like I was insane. “Emily, you are a waitress with a broken window. These are trained killers.”
“I am a waitress who has survived on food stamps, double shifts, and sheer panic for ten years,” I shot back, standing up. “Your men expect you to fight like a mob boss. They don't expect you to fight like someone who has nothing left to lose.”
My mother let out a dry chuckle from the bed. “I told you, Vincent. She’s Arthur’s daughter.”
Vincent stared at me, a slow, dangerous respect igniting in his dark eyes.
“I have a car hidden three blocks from here,” Vincent said. “We need to move your mother to a safe house, and then I need to breach my own compound to get Leo.”
“No,” I said, grabbing my keys from the counter. “We take my Honda. They’re looking for a black SUV, not a rusted 2012 Civic. I know the back roads of this town better than any of your men.”
Vincent didn't argue. He moved to the bed and gently scooped my frail mother into his arms, careful not to dislodge her oxygen tank.
We hurried down the back stairwell, slipping into the dark alley. The cold night air bit through my thin sweater. I unlocked the Honda, and Vincent laid my mother across the backseat.
“Where are we going?” I asked, getting behind the wheel.
Vincent slid into the passenger seat, pulling a heavy black handgun from his waistband.
“To the place Carmine would never look,” Vincent said. “The old Ridgewood Orphanage.”
I slammed on the brakes before I even started the car. I turned to look at him.
“Why the orphanage?” I demanded.
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Vincent looked straight ahead, his jaw tight. “Because that’s where your father hid the ledgers twenty-eight years ago. And it’s where I hid the boy tonight.”
TITLE: The Child's Drawing in the Dust
