Chapter 12 - Vincent locked Nora inside the monastery vault.
She lasted 11 minutes.
The room had originally stored church documents.
Vincent’s men had converted it into a secure panic room with reinforced walls, independent ventilation, 2 cameras, water, food, medical supplies, and a steel door designed to survive explosives.
Nora hated it immediately.
She struck the door.
“Open it.”
No answer.
She hit it again.
“Vincent.”
A speaker in the ceiling activated.
“No.”
Nora looked upward.
“You are watching me?”
“Yes.”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“I am not bait.”
“Correct.”
“Then stop treating me like something you can place on a shelf.”
“You are currently the most valuable person in this conflict.”
“That does not help your argument.”
Vincent’s voice came through the speaker.
“Elena was taken from the most secure room in this building.”
“Meaning the monastery is compromised.”
“Yes.”
“And you put me inside a box.”
“A box with 18 in of reinforced concrete.”
Nora paced.
“You are going after Salvatore.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know where he is.”
“I will.”
“You don’t know whether Elena is alive.”
A pause.
“She is.”
Nora stopped.
“How do you know?”
“Salvatore needs leverage.”
“You sound confident.”
“I need to be.”
That answer contained fear.
Vincent Costa was afraid for his sister.
Nora pressed her palm against the cold door.
“Take me.”
“No.”
“He asked for me.”
“That is precisely why you are not coming.”
“What if he kills her?”
Vincent did not answer.
Nora closed her eyes.
“What if my father’s records are the reason?”
Silence.
“What if Salvatore believes I know something?”
“You do not.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“No.”
“Then I can buy time.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
His voice became low.
“I have already watched enough people I care about become leverage.”
Nora froze.
The wording mattered.
People I care about.
Not assets.
Not debts.
Not property.
Nora lowered her voice.
“You cannot protect everyone by removing their choices.”
The speaker remained silent.
She continued.
“Your father did that to you.”
The silence changed.
Nora immediately knew she had struck something deep.
“Do not compare me to him.”
“I’m comparing the method.”
The speaker clicked off.
Nora swore.
Ten minutes later, the door opened.
Vincent stood outside.
He looked furious.
Good.
Anger meant he had listened.
Nora stepped forward.
He blocked the exit.
“You will follow every instruction.”
“Within reason.”
“Every.”
“Try again.”
His jaw tightened.
“Nora.”
“You opened the door because you need me.”
“I opened the door because otherwise you would spend the next 3 hours insulting my psychology through the security camera.”
“That too.”
Vincent handed her a bulletproof vest.
He had added a handgun.
Nora looked at it.
“You changed your mind.”
“I regret doing so already.”
She secured the weapon beneath her coat.
“Where is Salvatore?”
“An abandoned juvenile facility in upstate New York.”
The cassette.
The conditioning program.
Nora understood.
“Where you grew up?”
“I do not remember.”
That made it worse.
They left with 8 men.
No convoy lights.
No Costa communications network.
Bennett, injured but stubbornly upright, stayed behind to secure the monastery.
The facility stood 90 minutes north beneath dense forest.
A rusted sign near the entrance read ST. JUDE CHILDREN’S HOME.
Vincent stopped when he saw it.
Nora noticed his breathing change.
“You remember?”
“No.”
But his body did.
The same way Nora’s body recognized her father’s voice.
Vincent touched the scar beneath his chin.
Then looked at the main building.
Dark brick.
Boarded windows.
A central tower.
They approached on foot.
The front doors were open.
No guards.
That frightened Nora.
Inside, dust covered a tile floor patterned in black and white squares.
Children’s murals remained faded across the walls.
Animals.
Clouds.
A yellow sun.
Vincent stared at them.
His face became distant.
Nora touched his sleeve.
He flinched.
Not violently.
Like a child awakened from a nightmare.
“Vincent.”
“I know this place.”
His voice was almost inaudible.
Nora waited.
“The hallway.”
He looked left.
“There is a staircase behind that wall.”
Costa soldiers exchanged looks.
Vincent walked toward a boarded partition.
One man pulled it aside.
A staircase descended.
Exactly where Vincent remembered.
They went underground.
The air became damp.
Nora smelled mold.
Old concrete.
And something else.
Copper.
Her imagined smell.
Except this time Vincent stopped too.
“Blood?” Nora whispered.
“Old pipes.”
She was not sure.
They reached a corridor lined with metal doors.
Vincent’s face had become white.
“I remember these.”
Nora looked at the doors.
Each contained a small observation window.
Cells.
Not bedrooms.
Vincent moved toward one.
Number 6.
He touched the steel.
His hand shook.
Nora had never seen Vincent’s hand shake.
“Were you here?”
“I don’t know.”
He closed his eyes.
A sound came from farther down the corridor.
A woman crying.
“Elena.”
Vincent ran.
They found her inside a larger room strapped to a chair.
Alive.
Bruised.
A bandage stained red across her side.
Her eyes widened when Vincent entered.
“No!”
Vincent stopped.
“What?”
“It’s a trap.”
The lights died.
Steel doors slammed behind them.
Gas hissed from vents overhead.
Nora covered her mouth.
Vincent shouted.
“Respirators!”
Too late.
The gas smelled sweet.
Her knees weakened.
Vincent reached her.
His arms closed around her.
The floor moved upward.
Darkness took everything.
Nora woke tied to a chair.
A light shone directly into her face.
Her skull throbbed.
Vincent sat 8 ft away.
Also restrained.
Elena remained beside him.
A man stood between them.
He was approximately 70.
Tall despite age.
Silver hair.
Elegant dark suit.
Nora recognized him from Costa family photographs Bennett had shown her.
Salvatore Costa.
He smiled.
“Daniel’s daughter.”
Nora’s mouth tasted metallic.
“You people really need a new greeting.”
Salvatore laughed.
Vincent pulled against his restraints.
“If Elena dies—”
“She will not.”
Salvatore looked at him.
“Unless you continue wasting time.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“What do you want?”
Salvatore looked toward Nora.
“The key.”
“We opened the box.”
“I know.”
“Then you’re late.”
“No.”
Salvatore smiled.
“The bank box was not the key’s final purpose.”
Nora frowned.
Vincent became still.
“What else does it open?”
Salvatore walked toward her.
“A room.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Nora felt cold.
“What room?”
“The room Daniel Hale locked 19 years ago.”
Vincent stared.
“What is inside?”
Salvatore looked at him.
“Your beginning.”
He cut Nora’s restraints.
Vincent immediately struggled harder.
“Touch her and—”
Salvatore ignored him.
He handed Nora the brass key.
“You wanted answers.”
Nora looked at it.
“Why me?”
“Because Daniel designed the final lock so only someone carrying his genetic marker could open the secondary mechanism.”
Nora stared.
“Genetic marker?”
“A blood reader.”
Vincent’s expression became lethal.
“You built biometric security in a children’s prison?”
Salvatore smiled faintly.
“Daniel was creative.”
Nora stood.
Her legs trembled.
Salvatore pointed toward a steel door at the far end.
“Open it.”
“No.”
He removed a pistol.
Pressed it against Elena’s head.
Nora stopped.
Vincent’s voice became almost animal.
“Salvatore.”
“One life,” Salvatore said. “One door.”
Nora looked at Elena.
Elena’s face was pale.
She shook her head slightly.
Do not.
Nora walked toward the door.
“Good girl.”
“Call me that again and I’ll put the key through your eye.”
Salvatore smiled.
“You resemble your father.”
The door contained a brass lock.
Beside it, an old modified medical sensor.
Nora inserted the key.
Nothing happened.
“Blood,” Salvatore said.
A lancet waited beneath the panel.
Nora pressed her finger.
Pain.
A drop of blood entered the reader.
The machine produced a faint mechanical sound.
The door unlocked.
Cold air entered.
Lights activated automatically inside.
Nora stepped through.
Shelves covered the walls.
Hundreds of files.
Videotapes.
Photographs.
Medical records.
Names.
Children’s names.
Vincent’s name.
Elena’s.
Marco.
Luca.
And one file marked NORA HALE.
Nora stopped breathing.
Salvatore entered behind her.
“Your father documented everything.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
Vincent shouted from outside.
“Nora, do not give him anything.”
Salvatore ignored him.
Nora opened her file.
The first page contained a hospital record.
Female child.
Birth date.
Mother’s name correct.
Father: Daniel Hale.
Then another page.
A photograph of baby Nora.
Another.
Blood type.
Fingerprints.
She turned.
A note appeared in Daniel’s handwriting.
NORA IS NOT TO BE INCLUDED.
Nora frowned.
“Included in what?”
Salvatore’s smile disappeared.
“The program.”
Nora looked at him.
“My father worked here?”
“He designed portions of it.”
The floor seemed to move.
“No.”
“He regretted it later.”
“No.”
“Daniel Hale was not a hero.”
Nora’s hand tightened around the file.
Salvatore continued.
“He built the accounting systems. The identity records. The relocation network.”
Vincent had become silent outside.
Listening.
“Then why expose it?” Nora asked.
“Guilt.”
Salvatore shrugged.
“People become moral after profiting sufficiently.”
Nora wanted to deny it.
She could not.
Records existed.
Her father’s handwriting existed.
“Why do you want this room?”
“Because evidence is dangerous.”
“You want to destroy it.”
“Yes.”
Nora laughed faintly.
“At least you’re direct.”
Salvatore raised the pistol.
“Give me the key.”
Nora looked at the shelves.
Then at the ventilation system.
Old paper.
Magnetic tapes.
Files.
Truth.
Behind Salvatore, Vincent suddenly appeared.
His wrists were bloody.
The restraints hung broken from one hand.
Salvatore turned.
Vincent hit him.
The gun fired.
Nora ducked.
Elena screamed outside.
Vincent and Salvatore crashed into a shelf.
Files fell like snow.
Salvatore was old.
Vincent was injured.
For several seconds, age and wounds made them nearly equal.
Then Salvatore drew a knife.
The blade entered Vincent’s side.
Nora screamed.
Vincent struck him in the throat.
Salvatore fell backward.
The knife remained inside Vincent.
Nora grabbed the pistol from the floor.
Salvatore reached for another weapon inside his jacket.
Nora aimed.
“Stop.”
He looked at her.
She was shaking.
Salvatore smiled.
“You won’t.”
Nora remembered the man outside the SUV.
The stairwell.
Gunpowder.
Copper.
She hated what weapons had already taken from her.
“I don’t want to.”
Salvatore reached inside his coat.
Nora fired.
The bullet struck his shoulder.
He spun and fell.
She did not kill him.
Vincent looked at her.
Even with a knife inside his body, he understood.
Nora lowered the gun.
“Still bothered.”
His mouth moved.
“Good.”
Then he collapsed.
Nora dropped beside him.
“Don’t touch the knife.”
“I know.”
“Pressure around it.”
“I know.”
“Elena!”
Costa soldiers finally breached the corridor.
Everything became noise.
Nora remained beside Vincent.
His blood spread beneath her hands.
Again.
Five years after he first fell into her life bleeding.
Again she held him together.
Vincent looked at her through narrowing eyes.
“Interesting pattern.”
“Shut up.”
“You keep finding me like this.”
“You keep getting stabbed.”
“Statistically unlikely.”
Nora pressed harder.
He groaned.
“Good,” she said.
Vincent looked at her.
Nora’s eyes burned.
“Screaming means you’re breathing.”
He almost smiled.
Then lost consciousness.
Three hours later, Vincent remained in surgery.
Elena slept in the room beside his.
Salvatore Costa was alive under armed guard.
The evidence from St. Jude filled 2 secured trucks.
Nora sat alone in the hospital corridor with Daniel Hale’s files around her.
She had wanted the truth.
The truth was not clean.
Her father had participated in something monstrous before attempting to destroy it.
Vincent’s childhood had been manufactured.
His family contained brothers who were alive, dead, hidden, or renamed.
Dominic remained missing.
Grigori remained alive.
Northstar still moved containers.
The war was nowhere near finished.
Bennett limped toward her with coffee.
He handed her one.
Nora drank.
It was terrible.
Burned.
Acidic.
Perfect.
“Doctor says Vincent will live,” Bennett said.
Nora closed her eyes briefly.
“Of course he will.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m preparing emotionally for how annoying he’ll be.”
Bennett sat.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then he handed Nora a sealed plastic evidence sleeve.
“What is this?”
“Found inside the St. Jude room.”
Nora opened it.
A recent photograph.
Her father.
Older now.
Gray hair.
But unmistakable.
Alive.
Standing outside a train station.
The photograph had been taken 9 days earlier.
On the back, someone had written:
DANIEL HALE IS WAITING.
Nora stared.
“Where?”
Bennett pointed to the bottom.
An address.
Boston.
Nora stood.
Bennett looked alarmed.
“Where are you going?”
“To find my father.”
“Vincent is unconscious.”
“That sounds like excellent timing.”
“Nora.”
She looked through the window toward the operating room.
For five years, Vincent Costa had been the unresolved question in her life.
Now she understood he had only been the door.
Behind that door waited her father.
His crimes.
His reasons.
Vincent’s stolen childhood.
The surviving Costa brothers.
And whoever still controlled Northstar.
Nora placed the photograph inside her coat.
“Tell Vincent I’ll come back.”
Bennett stared.
“You know what he’s going to do when he wakes up.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Nora walked toward the elevator.
“He’s going to follow me.”
The doors opened.
For the first time in years, Nora stepped forward without being dragged, ordered, hidden, or rescued.
The copper smell remained somewhere inside her memory.
So did fear.
But fear no longer decided where she went.
Nora entered the elevator.
The doors began closing.
Bennett called after her.
“You understand Costa will burn Boston looking for you?”
Nora looked at him through the narrowing gap.
A tired smile touched her face.
“Then he should bring a coat.”
May you like
The doors closed.
And 6 floors above her, inside an operating room filled with white light, Vincent Costa’s heart continued beating.
