Chapter 6 - SAINT AURELIA’S CHURCHAt 11:47 p.m., a black SUV rolled toward Saint Aurelia’s Church.
It was not one of Vincent’s usual armored vehicles.
It was older.
Louder.
Easier to follow.
Exactly the kind of mistake an angry man might make.
Inside sat Matteo Greco wearing Vincent’s coat and hat, his face hidden beneath the brim. A leather case rested on the seat beside him.
Empty.
Two blocks away, Vincent watched from the back of a delivery van with Claire Donovan, Angelo, and a small team of federal agents Claire trusted more than her own chain of command.
Sophia was not there.
She was back at the mansion with Mrs. Alvarez, two retired detectives Vincent had once helped, and a pediatric nurse Claire personally knew.
Still, Vincent felt as if the child’s hand was gripping his sleeve.
“Audio check,” Claire said.
A speaker crackled.
Matteo’s nervous breathing filled the van.
Angelo muttered, “Kid better not crack.”
Vincent said nothing.
On the screen, Matteo stepped out of the SUV and approached the church.
Saint Aurelia’s had been closed for repairs for three years. Plywood covered half the stained glass. The bell tower leaned slightly over the street like an old man listening to secrets.
The front door opened.
Marco Santini appeared in the shadows.
Even through the grainy camera, Vincent recognized him.
The scar ran from cheekbone to jaw.
A souvenir from another life.
Marco looked at Matteo and laughed.
“You insult me.”
Matteo froze.
Marco stepped closer.
“You think I don’t know how Vincent walks?”
The van went silent.
Marco pulled Matteo’s hat off.
Matteo’s face shone with sweat.
“Please,” Matteo said. “I did what they told me.”
Marco looked directly toward the street.
Toward the hidden camera.
Toward Vincent.
“Come out, Vinny.”
Claire grabbed Vincent’s arm.
“No.”
Marco drew a phone from his pocket and held it up.
On the screen was Nina Bell.
Alive.
A man held a gun near her shoulder.
Marco said, “Ten seconds.”
Vincent opened the van door.
Claire hissed his name.
He ignored her.
Angelo followed.
“No,” Vincent said.
“Boss—”
“I said no.”
Vincent walked alone into the middle of the street.
Marco smiled from the church steps.
“There he is.”
Vincent stopped beneath a broken streetlamp.
“Let Nina go.”
“Bring me the ledger.”
“You don’t want the ledger.”
Marco’s smile faded.
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I know you want the truth.”
Marco’s scar twitched.
Vincent reached into his coat slowly and removed a small flash drive.
“This is Nina’s recording. She says I didn’t betray you.”
Marco’s face darkened.
“Lies.”
“Salvatore did.”
At the name, something changed in Marco’s eyes.
Old hate collided with old doubt.
Vincent stepped closer.
“My uncle sold your route. My uncle took the money. My uncle told me you ran.”
Marco’s jaw worked.
“You gave me this scar.”
“You pulled a gun on me.”
“Because I thought you killed my brother.”
“I thought you killed mine.”
For one moment, the years between them stood in the street.
Fifteen years of blood.
Fifteen years of wrong names carved into grief.
Then a new voice came from inside the church.
“Touching.”
Assistant Director Franklin Doyle walked out wearing a dark overcoat and federal confidence.
Two armed men followed him.
Claire swore in the van.
Doyle smiled at Vincent.
“Mr. Torino. Agent Donovan really should have warned you. Redemption is a terrible strategy for men with your résumé.”
Vincent looked past him toward Nina.
“Where is the woman?”
Doyle’s smile thinned.
“Safe enough.”
Marco turned to Doyle. “You told me Torino betrayed me.”
Doyle shrugged. “He betrayed plenty of people. Does the order matter?”
Marco stared at him.
Doyle sighed. “Don’t get sentimental now, Marco. You were useful because you were angry. Stay useful.”
Vincent saw it happen.
The exact second Marco understood.
He had not returned as a mastermind.
He had returned as a weapon.
And Doyle had been holding the handle.
A siren sounded in the distance.
Doyle’s eyes shifted.
Claire’s agents were moving.
Doyle snapped, “Take them.”
The church doors burst open behind him.
But the men inside did not get far.
Angelo’s team came from the alley.
Claire’s agents came from the rear.
For three chaotic minutes, Saint Aurelia’s became a storm of shouting, footsteps, and flashing lights.
Vincent moved through it with one purpose.
Nina.
He found her in the sacristy, tied to a chair, conscious but weak.
When she saw him, she flinched.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said.
Her eyes searched his face.
“Sophia?”
“Safe.”
Nina broke.
Vincent cut the ropes.
Behind him, a gun clicked.
Doyle stood in the doorway, breathing hard, weapon raised.
“Step away from her.”
Vincent slowly lifted his hands.
Doyle smiled.
“This is better. Crime boss found with kidnapped witness. Armed confrontation. Tragic ending.”
Nina whispered, “You won’t get away with this.”
Doyle laughed. “I already did.”
Then Marco appeared behind him.
Doyle turned too late.
Marco struck him hard enough to drop him to his knees.
Claire rushed in seconds later with her weapon raised.
“Federal agents! Hands where I can see them!”
Marco lifted his hands.
Vincent did too.
Doyle, on the floor, looked up with hatred.
Claire cuffed him herself.
As she pulled him to his feet, the wire beneath Vincent’s shirt transmitted every word Doyle had said.
Every threat.
Every confession.
Every name.
May you like
Outside, church bells that had not rung in three years began to move in the wind.
And for the first time that night, Vincent believed Sophia might wake up with her mother alive.
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