Chapter 3
I didn’t sleep that night.
The name “Moretti” alone was enough to keep every light in the house on.
Vincent had spent years pushing the Morettis out of the South Side, brick by bloody brick.
If Vanessa was tied to them, this wasn’t a broken heart story anymore. It was a trap.
I called Diane back before sunrise.
“Are you certain?” I asked.
“My source saw her meeting with Antonio Moretti’s nephew two weeks before she landed at O’Hare,” Diane said.
Two weeks before she called Vincent begging for help.
It hadn’t been a coincidence. It had been a plan.
Meanwhile, across the city, Vincent had no idea his empire was already cracking.
He sat in Vanessa’s condo that same morning, watching her pour two cups of coffee like nothing in the world was wrong.
“You’ve been distant,” Vanessa said softly. “Is something bothering you?”
“Madison hasn’t answered my calls in two days,” Vincent admitted.
Vanessa’s smile didn’t fully reach her eyes. “Give her time. New mothers need space.”
“She’s not like that,” Vincent said, almost to himself. “Something’s wrong.”
Vanessa reached for his hand. “You worry too much. Stay a little longer.”
He didn’t notice the phone buzzing silently in her purse, or the name flashing across the screen: Antonio.
By the fifteenth day, Vincent finally drove home, roses in hand, ready to make things right.
He walked through the front door expecting warmth, expecting Madison’s voice calling his name.
Instead, the house was silent.
Rosa stood frozen by the staircase, wringing her hands.
“Mr. Carter,” she said, voice trembling, “your wife moved out days ago.”
The roses slipped from his hand and hit the floor.
“What did you say?”
“She’s gone, sir. With the baby. She didn’t say where.”
Vincent’s mind raced backward through every missed call, every excuse he’d made for himself.
“Why didn’t anyone call me?” he demanded.
“She asked us not to,” Rosa said quietly. “She said you’d know why.”
He stood there a long moment, roses scattered at his feet, the silence of the house pressing down on him like a verdict.
Then his phone rang.
It wasn’t Madison.
It was his head of security, and his voice was sharp with panic.
“Boss, we have a problem. Someone’s been feeding information to the Morettis for weeks. And it’s coming from inside Vanessa Reed’s condo.”
