Chapter 4 - The Price on Her Name
Victor Moretti made his next move at 3:17 in the morning.
Not with a gun.
Not with a kidnapping.
With a photograph.
I was changing after my shift when my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One image.
Evan walking out of school.
Taken that afternoon.
Underneath it were six words:
Tell Vale to return what he stole.
For several seconds, the locker room disappeared around me.
I called Evan.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hey—”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Lock the door.”
“Aunt Tess?”
“Lock it. Don't open it for anyone.”
I ran.
I didn't call Adrien.
I was still too angry with him.
I called police.
Then I grabbed a cab.
Halfway home, my phone rang.
Adrien.
I rejected it.
He called again.
Again.
Then a text appeared.
Moretti contacted you. I know. Let me protect Evan.
I froze.
How did he already know?
I called.
“Are you monitoring my phone?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“Moretti sent the same photograph to me.”
My anger collapsed beneath fear.
“What does he want?”
“A ledger.”
“What kind?”
“One that proves he has been stealing money from businesses belonging to both our families.”
“So give it to him.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because it's evidence.”
I went silent.
Adrien continued.
“For five years I've been trying to pull the Vale organization out of what my father built. Legitimate companies. Legal contracts. No street operations.”
“And Moretti?”
“Doesn't want that.”
“Why?”
“Because men like him survive when everyone stays dirty.”
I closed my eyes.
“What does this have to do with Evan?”
“Nothing.”
“Then fix it.”
His voice changed.
“I will.”
The quiet certainty frightened me more than shouting would have.
I reached home twenty minutes later.
Two police cars were outside.
So were three black SUVs.
Marco stood near the entrance.
I stormed toward him.
“Where is my nephew?”
“Inside.”
“And Adrien?”
“Upstairs.”
I ran.
When I entered our apartment, Evan sat at the kitchen table with an officer.
Adrien stood by the window.
The yellow taxi's driver was gone again.
This man filled my tiny kitchen as if it were a boardroom.
I hugged Evan.
He whispered, “I'm okay.”
I checked anyway.
Face.
Arms.
No injuries.
Only then did I turn toward Adrien.
“You promised.”
His expression went cold.
“I promised nobody would touch him.”
“They photographed him.”
“And that mistake will cost them.”
“Stop talking like that.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then tell me how you want me to talk.”
“Like a normal person.”
“I haven't been normal since I was twelve.”
The room became still.
Even Evan looked up.
Adrien glanced toward him and stopped.
“This isn't the place.”
“No,” I said. “Apparently nothing about you belongs in normal places.”
That landed harder than I intended.
For one second, he looked wounded.
Then his face closed.
“Marco will stay downstairs. Two men across the street.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not negotiable.”
“It's my apartment.”
“And it is my enemy.”
I walked closer.
“You don't own us because somebody threatened us over something you have.”
His expression softened.
“No.”
“Then stop acting like you do.”
Adrien breathed slowly.
Then he turned to Marco.
“Outside.”
Marco left.
The police officers eventually finished their report and departed.
Evan went to his room.
Adrien and I remained in the kitchen.
“What is in the ledger?” I asked.
“Transfers. Shell companies. Payments to judges, contractors, union officials.”
“You said you were trying to clean your organization.”
“I am.”
“Then why do you have records of crimes?”
“Because you can't dismantle something without understanding how it was built.”
I crossed my arms.
“And Victor wants it back?”
“He wants it destroyed.”
“Why not give it to federal investigators?”
Adrien laughed without humor.
“You think I know which investigators he hasn't bought?”
That answer disturbed me because it sounded plausible.
I sat down.
My anger was becoming exhausted.
Adrien remained standing.
“When I was fourteen,” he said, “my father brought me to a warehouse.”
I looked up.
“There was a man tied to a chair. He had stolen money.”
Adrien's eyes were somewhere far away.
“My father told me there were two kinds of people. Those who were feared, and those who were buried.”
My throat tightened.
“What happened?”
“I watched my father make his point.”
He didn't give details.
He didn't need to.
“I decided that night I would never become him.”
“But you inherited everything.”
“Yes.”
“Why not leave?”
“Because leaving doesn't erase the machine.”
He looked at me.
“It just hands the machine to somebody worse.”
I thought of Victor.
“Have you killed people?”
Adrien didn't answer immediately.
“Yes.”
The truth struck harder than another lie would have.
I stood.
He didn't move toward me.
“People who came to kill me,” he said. “People who tried to murder my brother. Men who kidnapped one of my employees' children.”
“Stop.”
He stopped.
“I don't know how to put that inside the same person who bought Evan breakfast.”
“Neither do I.”
That answer broke something open.
He wasn't asking me to forgive him.
He wasn't pretending the darkness didn't exist.
He simply stood there carrying it.
Adrien pulled a small object from his pocket.
A key.
“What is that?”
“Safe house.”
“No.”
“Listen.”
“I said no.”
“Then listen while refusing.”
Despite everything, I nearly laughed.
He placed the key on the counter.
“House outside the city. Security. Nobody knows you are connected to it.”
“We are not running.”
“You're not. Evan is.”
My face changed.
“He has school.”
“He also has someone photographing him.”
That ended the argument.
An hour later, Evan packed a backpack.
He protested until Adrien told him the safe house had fiber internet.
Suddenly his moral objections softened.
Before leaving, Evan looked between us.
“You two have relationship problems.”
“We do not have a relationship,” I said.
Adrien said nothing.
Evan sighed.
“Sure.”
Marco drove him.
I stayed.
Adrien looked surprised.
“You should go with him.”
“I have a shift tomorrow.”
“You're unbelievable.”
“People still get sick during Mafia wars.”
A laugh escaped him.
A real one.
Then silence settled.
He looked exhausted.
For the first time, I noticed blood on his cuff.
“Your hand.”
He hid it instinctively.
I grabbed his wrist.
His knuckles were split.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Do not use that word with me again.”
Our eyes met.
I cleaned his hand at my kitchen sink.
He watched me.
“You shouldn't do this.”
“I'm a nurse.”
“That isn't what I mean.”
I wrapped gauze around his knuckles.
“What do you mean?”
His voice dropped.
“You should hate me.”
I tied the bandage.
“That would be easier.”
His breath caught.
I looked up.
For one dangerous second, neither of us moved.
Then somebody fired through the kitchen window.
Glass exploded.
Adrien hit me before the sound fully registered.
Not struck.
Covered.
His body drove mine to the floor as another shot shattered the cabinet above us.
He dragged me behind the counter.
“Stay down.”
His voice was no longer gentle.
Footsteps thundered outside.
Marco's men responded.
Adrien pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket.
I stared.
He looked at me once.
“Tessa.”
I couldn't answer.
“This is who I am when the taxi stops.”
May you like
Then he rose and disappeared toward the hallway.
And I finally understood that loving Adrien Vale might require surviving the world he had spent his entire life trying to escape.
