Chapter 9: The Man with the Scar
Dov had him in a service corridor two floors below.
Gabriel stood up without a word and looked at me.
"Stay here."
"Gabriel—"
"Please." His voice was quiet.
"Stay with the boys."
I went to the lounge.
Marcus was awake again, sitting in his chair with his knees pulled up, watching the door.
He had the instincts of a much older person and I had never quite known what to do with that.
"Can't sleep?" I said.
"Something's happening," he said.
"Everything is fine."
"You keep saying that."
I sat down beside him.
"I know."
"Is Dad handling it?"
I looked at my five-year-old son.
"Yes," I said.
"He is."
Marcus seemed to find this acceptable.
He leaned against my arm and within ten minutes he was asleep.
I sat in the dark with my three sons and waited.
Gabriel came back forty minutes later.
He closed the lounge door behind him and crouched down so he was at eye level with me, his voice low enough not to wake the boys.
"Reyes was here to confirm the boys' location.
He was going to report back to Vitelli tonight." He paused.
"He won't be doing that."
"Is he—"
"He's being held.
He's not hurt.
He's simply not going anywhere." Gabriel looked at Marcus, asleep against my arm.
"He talked.
Vitelli's meeting tomorrow is at one o'clock.
A restaurant called Armando's on 54th.
He's expecting to finalize the Marchetti deal and then send a formal message to me by end of day."
"What kind of message?"
"The kind that comes with conditions." Gabriel's jaw tightened.
"He was going to present the fabricated photograph to a federal contact he has.
Someone who's been building a case against my organization for two years.
The photograph would have placed you in contact with a missing man.
It would have given them a reason to bring you in for questioning."
I looked at him steadily.
"He was going to use me to get to you."
"Yes."
"And the boys?"
"The boys were the backup plan.
If the photograph didn't produce enough pressure, he was going to make it clear he knew where they were." He paused.
"He wasn't going to touch them.
He's not that kind of man.
But the threat alone—"
"Would have been enough," I said.
"Yes.
It would have been."
Gabriel looked at me.
In the dim light of the lounge, with three sleeping boys between us and the sounds of the city somewhere far below, he looked less like the most feared man in Manhattan and more like someone who had been carrying something very heavy for a very long time.
"I'm going to need to be at Armando's tomorrow," he said.
"Before Vitelli arrives.
I'm going to need to be in a position to—"
"I'm coming with you," I said.
"Claire—"
"I'm the one in the photograph, Gabriel.
I'm the one he was going to implicate.
I have a right to be in the room when this ends." I kept my voice steady.
"And I'm a better witness than anyone you could bring.
I can speak to what I was actually doing in Rome.
I can speak to what I did and didn't do.
No one can take that away from me."
He was quiet for a moment.
"The boys—"
"Dov can arrange protection here.
I'll speak to the staff." I looked at him.
"I trust you to keep them safe while I'm gone.
Can you trust me to handle myself in that room?"
Something shifted in his face.
"Yes," he said.
"I can."
I looked down at Marcus, still asleep against my arm.
His breathing was slow and even.
He had his father's jaw and his father's stubborn crease between his eyebrows and he had never once in five years seemed frightened of anything.
I thought about the woman who had left a Westchester estate with two suitcases and a broken heart.
I thought about the doctor's office in Brooklyn, the ultrasound screen, the three heartbeats.
I thought about everything I had built alone, and everything I had protected, and everything I had not allowed to destroy me.
Tomorrow I was going to walk into a room with the man who had tried to use my children as leverage.
May you like
I wasn't frightened.
I was ready.
