Chapter 8 - St. Catherine Hospital had 4 entrances.
Vincent’s men controlled all of them within 6 minutes.
Nora hated the efficiency.
Ordinary people continued entering beneath fluorescent lights carrying sick children, injured hands, elderly parents, and paper cups of coffee.
None appeared to understand that armed men in plain clothing had positioned themselves throughout the building.
Vincent moved beside Nora through the emergency department wearing a dark coat that concealed his bandages.
His face showed nothing.
Only Nora noticed that he avoided taking full breaths.
A young physician intercepted them near the trauma bay.
“You cannot enter.”
Vincent continued walking.
The doctor placed himself directly in the doorway.
“I said you cannot enter.”
Nora almost admired him.
Then Vincent looked at the man.
Something about his expression caused the physician’s confidence to disappear.
Nora stepped between them.
“We are family.”
The doctor looked at her.
“Immediate family?”
Vincent answered, “Brother.”
The doctor hesitated.
“Only one person.”
“Nora comes.”
“I said one.”
Vincent moved closer.
Nora touched his arm.
“One,” she said quietly.
He turned.
“I’ll wait outside.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
His jaw tightened.
Nora lowered her voice.
“You are about to see your sister with a gunshot wound. You don’t need to spend the next 30 seconds establishing dominance over a resident physician.”
The doctor stared at them.
Vincent finally entered alone.
Nora remained outside the curtain.
She could hear monitors.
Metal instruments.
The soft language of emergency medicine.
Elena had been shot through the left side below the ribs.
The bullet exited.
She had lost significant blood but no major organ appeared destroyed.
Lucky.
Or deliberate.
Nora understood violence well enough now to consider the possibility.
A shot that looked fatal without being fatal could carry a message.
Twenty minutes later, Vincent emerged.
His face remained blank.
“She awake?” Nora asked.
“No.”
“Doctor says?”
“She will live.”
Vincent walked toward an empty corridor.
Nora followed.
He stopped beside a vending machine.
For several seconds he stared at the brightly colored packages behind the glass.
It was absurd.
A man who owned shipping terminals and politicians standing beneath fluorescent lighting beside crackers priced at $2.75.
“She was shot at close range,” he said.
Nora waited.
“No powder burns.”
“Then not contact distance.”
“Through-and-through.”
“Maybe meant to injure.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Message?”
“Yes.”
“What message?”
His expression darkened.
“Bring your ghost.”
Nora stopped.
“What?”
Vincent reached into his coat.
He removed a folded piece of paper sealed inside a hospital evidence bag.
A nurse had apparently found it inside Elena’s coat.
Three words had been written in black ink.
BRING YOUR GHOST.
Nora stared.
Her mouth became dry.
“They mean me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“And I am finished not knowing.”
He turned away.
Nora caught his sleeve.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find Grigori.”
“And then?”
“Ask politely.”
She stared.
Vincent looked at her hand.
“You should remove that.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“You are not going to disappear and leave me inside another room while you start a war.”
“The war started before you were born.”
“And apparently I’m part of it now.”
Vincent became silent.
Nora lowered her voice.
“You watched me for 3 years. Elena knew about me. Antonov wants me alive. That means the night you fell through my door was not random.”
“It was random to you.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Vincent looked away.
Nora felt certainty enter her stomach.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
His eyes returned to her.
“I do not know why they want you.”
“But you know why you were in the South End that night.”
Silence.
Nora waited.
Vincent finally said, “I was carrying something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Her heartbeat accelerated.
“What ledger?”
“A list of Antonov payments to city officials.”
“Why did you have it?”
“I stole it.”
“From Grigori?”
“From Viktor Antonov.”
Nora frowned.
“Grigori’s father.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Viktor was attempting to blackmail my father.”
The corridor seemed colder.
“With trafficking records?”
Vincent’s face closed.
“I did not know those existed.”
“But you knew Antonov and your father had business together.”
“Yes.”
Nora felt anger rise.
“You told me they tried to take your territory.”
“They did.”
“That wasn’t the beginning.”
“No.”
“You made it sound like the beginning.”
“I gave you the information necessary to understand your immediate danger.”
“That is a sophisticated way to describe lying.”
Vincent’s jaw moved.
Nora stepped closer.
“What happened that night?”
He studied her.
Then looked toward the emergency-room doors.
“Viktor Antonov had arranged a meeting in a warehouse near the river. My father sent me.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“And?”
“Viktor wanted control of port 4. He claimed he possessed documents that could destroy the Costa family.”
“Your father’s trafficking operation.”
“I did not know that.”
Nora believed him.
She was surprised by the certainty.
Vincent was capable of many things.
But his shock in the monastery had been real.
“What did you do?”
“I took his ledger. The meeting became violent.”
“That’s a gentle phrase.”
“I killed 3 men.”
Nora swallowed.
“And Viktor?”
“Escaped.”
“You were shot.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come to my building?”
“I didn’t.”
She frowned.
Vincent continued.
“I was trying to reach a physician who lived 2 streets away. A man who treated my father’s people.”
“What happened?”
“He had already been killed.”
“So you were bleeding in the alley.”
“Yes.”
“And chose my door.”
“I did not choose your door.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though searching memory.
“I remember running. Police cars entered the block. Someone fired from the far end of the alley.”
He touched the scar near his jaw.
“I remember climbing a fence.”
“And then?”
“Nothing until your bathroom.”
Nora stared.
“You don’t remember hitting my window?”
“No.”
The original memory shifted inside her.
The heavy impact.
The scraping.
The body falling through her doorway.
Someone might have placed him there.
Nora felt cold.
“What happened to the ledger?”
“Gone.”
“You thought Antonov took it?”
“I assumed I dropped it.”
“What if someone removed it before you reached me?”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“Nora.”
“What?”
His expression changed.
“When I woke inside your bathroom, my coat was on the floor.”
“Yes.”
“Did you search it?”
“No.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Blood. A wallet.”
Vincent stared.
“A wallet?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer.
“I was not carrying a wallet.”
Nora’s skin prickled.
“What are you saying?”
“What did it look like?”
“I don’t know. Black leather.”
“Did you open it?”
“No. I didn’t want your name.”
“Where did it go?”
“I put it back into the coat.”
“And the coat?”
“You wore it when you left.”
Vincent became completely still.
Someone had put a wallet inside his coat.
Why?
Identification?
A message?
Or something concealed within it?
Nora closed her eyes, forcing herself backward through memory.
Bathroom tiles.
Vodka.
Blood.
The overcoat.
She remembered lifting it from the floor because something hard beneath it had cut her palm.
Not the wallet.
Something else.
“There was a key,” she whispered.
Vincent’s expression changed.
“What?”
“A small key.”
“Where?”
“Inside the coat lining.”
“You never told me this.”
“I forgot.”
Nora pressed her fingers to her temples.
“It had cut through the fabric. Brass. Very small.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I put it…”
Memory struck.
Her old apartment.
The bathroom sink.
Twenty dollars stained with blood.
A tiny brass key beside it.
Vincent had disappeared before sunrise.
Nora had been furious.
She had taken the $20.
She had taken the key too.
“I kept it.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nora.”
“It was five years ago.”
“You kept it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“Because I was poor and angry and thought maybe it opened something expensive.”
Vincent stared.
Despite everything, an incredulous breath escaped him.
Nora pointed at him.
“Do not judge me. You left $20 after destroying my bathroom.”
“Where did you put it?”
She searched memory.
When she moved from the South End, she had packed everything into two grocery boxes and a duffel bag.
Most possessions had been discarded over the years.
But some things she never threw away.
A rusted tin containing old coins.
Her mother’s cheap earrings.
A childhood photograph.
Documents.
Keys.
“Oh.”
Vincent saw her expression.
“What?”
“My apartment.”
“The building I purchased?”
“Yes.”
“Your belongings were removed before the fire at Patsy’s.”
Nora’s head snapped toward him.
“You removed my things?”
“Of course.”
“You told me to pack one bag.”
“You owned almost nothing.”
“That does not answer—”
“Where are they?”
Vincent interrupted.
Nora exhaled.
“In a metal tea tin. Probably.”
He removed his telephone.
“Bennett.”
Nora caught his arm.
“If your system is compromised, stop telling everyone where we are going.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then slowly lowered the phone.
“Good.”
The approval irritated her.
“Stop looking pleased.”
“I am not pleased.”
“You have a pleased eyebrow.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
The smallest shadow of amusement appeared.
It vanished when the trauma-room doors opened.
A nurse emerged.
“She’s awake.”
Vincent entered immediately.
Nora remained outside.
Thirty seconds later, he returned.
“Elena wants you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
Nora followed him inside.
Elena looked far smaller in the hospital bed than she did in photographs.
Her skin was nearly white.
Dark hair spread across the pillow.
A nasal cannula rested beneath her nose.
Her eyes opened when Nora entered.
They were the same dark color as Vincent’s.
Elena looked at her for several seconds.
Then smiled weakly.
“So.”
Her voice was rough.
“The ghost.”
Nora moved closer.
“Why does everyone call me that?”
Elena’s smile disappeared.
“Because my father tried to kill you before you ever met my brother.”
Vincent went completely still.
Nora heard the monitor accelerate beside the bed.
“What?”
Elena turned her eyes toward Vincent.
“You still don’t know.”
“Know what?”
Pain entered Elena’s expression.
“Father knew where the ledger went.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“He never told me.”
“No.”
“Why would he target Nora?”
Elena looked at her.
“Because Nora’s father stole it.”
The room became silent.
Nora stopped breathing.
“My father died when I was 8.”
Elena closed her eyes briefly.
“No.”
May you like
She looked back at Nora.
“That is what your mother told you.”
