Chapter 4
Vincent’s grip tightened around the phone.
“Say that again,” he said, voice dangerously low.
“The wire transfers, the warehouse routes, the shipment schedules,” his security chief said. “Someone leaked all of it. And it traces back to her building.”
For a moment, Vincent said nothing.
Six years of memory rearranged themselves in his mind—every convenient reappearance, every perfectly timed phone call.
“Get me everything you have,” Vincent said. “Now.”
Across town, I was in a small rented house on the North Side, rocking my son to sleep, unaware that the danger Diane warned me about had already reached Vincent’s door.
My phone buzzed. It was Diane.
“Madison, you need to see this,” she said.
She sent me a photo—Vanessa, laughing, arm in arm with Antonio Moretti at a private event two months ago.
My stomach turned. “This was before she even called Vincent.”
“She didn’t come back for love,” Diane said. “She came back to open a door for the Morettis to walk through.”
I thought of my son sleeping upstairs, innocent of all of this.
I thought of the men now aware I had left Vincent’s protection.
“Diane,” I said carefully, “if the Morettis know Vincent’s wife left him, what does that mean for me?”
There was a long pause.
“It means you’re no longer just his wife,” she said. “You’re leverage.”
That night, my private security tightened the perimeter around the house without me even asking.
I didn’t sleep. I sat by the window with my son in my arms, watching the empty street.
Meanwhile, Vincent confronted Vanessa in her own condo, the folder of evidence in his hand.
“Explain this,” he said, dropping photos onto the table between them.
Vanessa’s expression flickered, just for a second, before settling into practiced calm.
“Vincent, I can explain everything—”
“Don’t,” he said. “Just tell me one thing. Is Madison in danger because of you?”
Vanessa hesitated a moment too long.
And in that silence, Vincent already had his answer.
He turned and walked out without another word, dialing a number he hadn’t called in fifteen days.
Not Madison’s number.
His head of security’s, giving one order: “Find my wife. Tonight. Before they do.”
