Chapter 5 - THE ROOF WHERE GHOSTS WAITEDThe rooftop wind hit Vincent like a slap from the city itself.
Cold.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
Below him, sirens echoed between buildings. Helicopters thudded somewhere far away, though he could not tell if they belonged to news crews, police, or the people hunting him.
The Torino Building stood thirty-two stories above downtown, all glass and concrete and old sins dressed up as success.
Vincent stepped onto the roof with his hands visible.
He carried no gun.
That did not mean he was unarmed.
Men like Vincent Torino became weapons long before they learned how to fire one.
Evelyn Hart sat tied to a metal chair near the edge of the roof. Her lip was split. Her white coat was smeared with dirt. But her eyes were alive, and when she saw Vincent, they filled with a warning he could not yet read.
Dante stood behind her.
He held a gun loosely, like a man comfortable with betrayal.
Two masked men stood near the stairwell door.
Another waited by the roof access elevator.
No Marco.
Vincent noticed that first.
Dante smiled.
“You came alone.”
Vincent looked around.
“You look disappointed.”
“I was hoping you’d make it dramatic.”
“You brought a federal agent to a roof and tied her to a chair. You’re dramatic enough for both of us.”
Dante laughed.
For years, that laugh had lived beside Vincent at weddings, funerals, and late-night strategy meetings.
Now it sounded like a stranger wearing a dead friend’s clothes.
Vincent stopped ten feet away.
“Let her go.”
Dante tilted his head. “Still giving orders.”
“Still breathing. Makes sense.”
Dante’s smile thinned.
Evelyn spoke through swollen lips. “Vincent, he doesn’t have the ledger.”
Dante struck her across the face with the back of his hand.
Vincent did not move.
That took more control than killing him would have.
Dante leaned close to Evelyn. “You federal types never understand timing.”
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“Touch her again and you’ll beg me before you die.”
Dante looked almost pleased.
“There he is. The real Vincent. Not the grieving lover. Not the secret father. Not the man playing guardian angel to a little girl who should’ve been handled years ago.”
Vincent’s eyes went black.
“She was a child.”
“She was evidence.”
“No,” Vincent said. “She was Elena’s daughter.”
Dante stepped around Evelyn.
“And yours.”
The wind moved between them.
Vincent felt blood warm beneath his coat.
Dante noticed.
“You’re bleeding.”
“You’re talking.”
“Still funny.”
“Still a traitor.”
Dante’s face twitched.
That one found him.
“I was loyal,” he snapped. “For fifteen years. I was loyal while you mourned Marco. Loyal while you chased ghosts. Loyal while Elena played both sides and you let love make you stupid.”
Vincent did not react.
Dante wanted reaction.
Needed it.
So Vincent gave him nothing.
Dante’s voice grew harder.
“You think I wanted this? They came to me after Marco disappeared. They showed me files. Accounts. Pictures of my brother’s kids leaving school. They said loyalty was a luxury rich men demanded from poor men.”
“And you sold a woman.”
Dante swallowed.
“I passed information.”
“You sold Elena.”
“I didn’t know they would kill her.”
Evelyn laughed weakly.
Dante turned on her. “Shut up.”
“She was pregnant,” Evelyn said. “Everyone knew what they would do.”
Dante’s hand lifted again.
Vincent moved one step.
Dante froze.
For a second, old habit still ruled him.
He had protected Vincent too long not to fear that step.
Vincent saw it.
So did Dante.
And he hated himself for it.
“You don’t get to judge me,” Dante said. “You built the world that made me useful.”
Vincent nodded once.
“You’re right.”
Dante blinked.
Vincent continued, “I built monsters. I paid monsters. I trusted monsters.”
His eyes fixed on Dante.
“But you chose which child to feed them.”
The rooftop went silent.
Dante’s face hardened into something ugly.
“Bring the file.”
“I don’t have it.”
Dante smiled. “Liar.”
Vincent opened his coat.
Nothing.
Dante’s eyes flicked down.
No blue file.
His smile vanished.
“You gave it to the girl.”
“I gave her what belonged to her.”
Dante pointed the gun at Evelyn’s head.
“Wrong answer.”
Vincent did not look away.
“You shoot her, you lose your bargaining chip.”
“I still have the audio.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Dante noticed.
“There it is,” he whispered. “That’s what scares you. Not dying. Not prison. Not losing your empire. You’re scared that little girl hears her mother begging you to leave.”
Evelyn looked at Vincent with sympathy that made him want to turn away.
Dante reached into his pocket and lifted a small recorder.
“Elena Marino. Final call. Seven years ago. You remember, don’t you?”
Vincent remembered every second.
The rain.
The broken phone signal.
Elena breathing like every breath hurt.
A baby crying somewhere in the background.
Her voice saying, Vincent, if you love me, disappear.
Dante pressed play.
Static crackled.
Then Elena’s voice filled the rooftop.
Weak.
Terrified.
Alive.
“Vincent… listen to me…”
The world disappeared.
Dante watched Vincent’s face with hunger.
But then another voice came through the recording.
A man’s voice.
Not Vincent’s.
Marco’s.
“Elena, stay awake. I’m almost there.”
Dante’s smile faltered.
Evelyn looked up.
Vincent stared at the recorder.
He had never heard this part.
Dante stopped the recording.
Too late.
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Marco was there.”
Dante said nothing.
“Play it.”
“No.”
Vincent took one step.
Dante aimed the gun at him now.
“I said no.”
A new voice spoke from behind the rooftop water tower.
“Then I will.”
Everyone turned.
A man stepped from the shadows.
Tall.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
A scar cut down one side of his face.
Marco Santini was older than Vincent remembered.
Thinner.
Harder.
But alive.
Very alive.
One of Dante’s masked men lifted his weapon.
Marco shot the gun out of his hand before anyone blinked.
The masked man screamed and dropped.
Marco did not look at him.
His eyes were on Vincent.
“Hello, brother.”
Vincent stared at him.
Fifteen years of rage had prepared a thousand things to say.
None came.
Marco’s eyes moved to Dante.
“You always did hate when the truth had witnesses.”
Dante backed up half a step.
Marco smiled sadly.
“You should have killed me better.”
Dante raised his gun toward Marco.
Vincent moved at the same time.
The roof erupted.
Evelyn threw herself sideways in the chair.
Marco fired twice.
Dante fired once.
Vincent hit Dante hard enough to drive both men into the gravel.
The recorder skidded across the roof, still playing.
Elena’s voice crackled again.
“Marco… if Vincent comes, they’ll follow him…”
Then Marco’s younger voice, panicked.
“Where’s the baby?”
Elena sobbed.
“With Lucia. Tell Vincent he cannot come. Tell him if he loves her, he has to let her hate him.”
Vincent froze.
Dante used the moment.
He drove a knife into Vincent’s side.
Vincent grunted but caught Dante’s wrist before the second strike.
Marco shouted his name.
Dante hissed in Vincent’s ear.
“She died thinking you chose yourself.”
Vincent’s eyes changed.
“No,” he said.
Then he broke Dante’s wrist.
Dante screamed.
Marco crossed the roof and kicked the gun away.
The masked men were down or running.
Evelyn struggled against her ropes.
Vincent stood over Dante, bleeding from shoulder and side.
Every old instinct told him to end it there.
One move.
One final silence.
Dante looked up, terrified now.
“Vincent…”
Marco watched him.
Evelyn watched him.
The city watched from thirty-two stories below.
Vincent bent down and picked up the recorder.
Then he turned away from Dante.
“No,” he said. “You don’t get my worst self today.”
Dante laughed weakly.
“You think that saves her?”
Vincent stopped.
Dante smiled through pain.
“You still don’t know where the ledger is.”
Marco’s face tightened.
Dante looked toward the stairwell.
“But Sophia does.”
Vincent’s blood turned cold.
The rooftop door burst open.
Paulie stumbled through, bleeding from his forehead.
“Boss!”
Vincent ran to him.
Paulie collapsed to one knee.
“They took her.”
The wind stopped feeling cold.
It stopped feeling like anything.
Vincent grabbed Paulie.
“Who?”
Paulie’s eyes filled with shame.
“Lucia fought them. I tried. I swear I tried.”
“Who took my daughter?”
Paulie looked past Vincent.
At Marco.
Then at Evelyn.
“Men in federal jackets.”
Evelyn whispered one word.
“No.”
Vincent turned toward her.
“What?”
Evelyn’s face had gone gray.
“They weren’t Bureau.”
Marco finished for her.
“They were Glass Saint.”
Dante laughed from the gravel.
Softly.
May you like
Cruelly.
“Now the trap is finally closed.”
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