Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Dark
Night fell over the Marchetti estate, bringing a heavy fog that rolled in off Lake Michigan.
On the second floor of the mansion, Alina sat in the lavish guest suite Vincent had assigned to her and Mia. The room was grander than anything she had ever seen—plush velvet rugs, an embroidered king-sized bed, and massive windows overlooking the rear gardens.
Mia was fast asleep under the soft duvet, her wooden toy truck sitting on the bedside table beside her.
Alina couldn't sleep. She walked silently to the window, watching the shadowy figures of Dominic’s security guards moving through the foggy grounds below.
A soft knock at the connecting door made her jump.
She opened it slowly to find Vincent standing in the hallway. He had shed his suit jacket, wearing only his dark dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong, muscular arms covered in faint scars from his younger days in the streets.
"Is she sleeping?" Vincent asked quietly.
"Yes, Mr. Marchetti," Alina whispered, stepping back to let him enter. "She was exhausted."
Vincent walked over to the bed, looking down at the sleeping toddler with an expression Alina had never seen on him before—a mixture of deep gratitude and intense, protective quiet.
"She has courage," Vincent said softly. "Most adults in this city would have kept their mouths shut out of fear."
"She doesn't know who you are, sir," Alina said with a faint, nervous smile. "To her, you're just the tall man with the big hat."
Vincent let out a short, quiet chuckle—a rare, low sound that warmed the cold bedroom. "Good. I prefer it that way."
He turned to face Alina, his piercing blue eyes holding hers in the dim lamp light. "Alina, I need to ask you something about your late husband, Marco."
Alina blinked in surprise. "Marco? What does he have to do with any of this?"
"Before Marco died in that warehouse fire two years ago, he was working directly for Julian’s private distribution arm," Vincent explained gently. "At the time, the police ruled it an accidental electrical fire. But three weeks ago, during an audit of the old shipping logs, I found strange payments transferred from Julian’s accounts to the warehouse owner right before the blaze."
Alina felt her breath catch in her throat. "Are you saying... Marco's death wasn't an accident?"
"I don't know yet," Vincent admitted honestly. "But I think Marco discovered something about Julian’s illegal side-deals with rival syndicates. And I think whoever set that fire two years ago is the same person who tried to blow up my car today."
Tears welled up in Alina’s dark brown eyes. She gripped her hands tightly against her apron. "Marco told me... the night before he died, he told me he found a black notebook in the main office. He said if anything ever happened to him, I should never look for it."
Vincent stepped closer, his presence warm and solid against the chill of the room. "Did he ever bring anything home, Alina? Anything at all?"
Alina shook her head slowly, trying to recall that terrifying week two years ago. "No... nothing. Except..." She froze, her eyes drifting toward the bedside table where Mia’s wooden toy truck rested.
Vincent’s gaze followed hers. "Except what?"
"That toy truck," Alina whispered, her voice trembling. "Marco carved it out of dark oak in his workshop the week before he died. Mia never lets it out of her sight."
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Vincent stepped over to the nightstand and carefully picked up the heavy wooden truck. He turned it over, examining the hollow bottom where Mia had hidden the silver cuff link earlier that morning.
He ran his thumb along the inner lining of the carved wood. Beneath his pressure, a tiny panel shifted with a faint click.
