Chapter 10 - The Cost of Loving Vincent DucaThe threat arrived on a Thursday.
By Friday morning, Emma had learned that Vincent's world operated according to rules she had never needed to understand.
People did not always say what they meant. Silence could be a warning. A delayed phone call could mean someone was watching. And a simple invitation to dinner could become a security discussion involving three lawyers and a man named Daniel who seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to appear whenever trouble was approaching.
Emma was beginning to dislike Daniel's timing.
She was also beginning to appreciate his honesty.
When he called her at nine on Friday morning, she was standing in line at a pharmacy, waiting to collect a prescription for Rosa.
"Miss Harris?"
"Daniel. Please tell me this isn't about another dehumidifier."
"It isn't."
"That's disappointing. I've grown rather fond of appliances."
He laughed briefly.
Then his voice became serious.
"Mr. Duca received a threat last night. The police have been informed."
Emma felt her stomach tighten.
"Was the threat against him?"
"Against the investigation into Isabella's death."
She stepped away from the line.
"Does Vincent think someone will hurt him?"
"He believes the threat should be taken seriously."
"That wasn't what I asked."
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know whether anyone intends to hurt him physically. But there are people who clearly want the investigation to stop."
Emma closed her eyes.
"Has he told me everything?"
"I believe he's trying to."
It was not the answer she wanted.
But it was more honest than a reassurance Daniel could not support.
"Where is he?"
"At his office."
"Is he safe?"
"At the moment, yes."
Emma exhaled.
"All right."
"Miss Harris, I should also tell you that someone has been asking questions about you."
The pharmacy seemed suddenly too bright.
"What kind of questions?"
"Your address. Your work schedule. The places you visit regularly."
Emma gripped the phone.
"Who?"
"We don't know yet."
She looked through the window at the street outside.
A woman pushed a stroller past the pharmacy. A delivery cyclist waited at a traffic light. Two men stood beside a parked car, arguing about something that appeared to have nothing to do with her.
The city looked exactly as it always had.
That was what frightened her.
Danger did not always announce itself.
Sometimes it wore an ordinary face and waited for you to stop paying attention.
"What am I supposed to do?" she asked.
"Mr. Duca would like you to stay somewhere secure until we understand who is asking these questions."
Emma stiffened.
"No."
"Miss Harris—"
"I will not be moved into one of Vincent's properties because someone might be watching me."
Daniel sighed.
"I expected that answer."
"Then why ask?"
"Because I have a responsibility to communicate the available options."
Emma softened slightly.
"I'm not angry with you, Daniel. But I won't let Vincent make decisions about my life without involving me."
"I understand."
"If you have information about a specific threat, tell me. If you have evidence that someone intends to hurt me, tell me. But don't ask me to disappear simply because everyone is frightened."
Daniel was silent.
Then he said, "I'll speak to him."
Emma ended the call.
She stood in the pharmacy for another minute, trying to slow her breathing.
Then she collected Rosa's prescription and went to work.
She would not let fear make every decision for her.
But she would not confuse independence with recklessness, either.
If Vincent's world had become dangerous, she needed to understand what that meant.
Not because she wanted to be part of it.
Because she needed to know whether she could safely remain part of his life.
Vincent was waiting outside Rose's Diner when Emma arrived that evening.
He had sent a message asking whether she could meet him after her shift.
She had replied that she could, but only if they spoke honestly.
Now he stood beside the window, his hands in his coat pockets.
When she approached, he opened the door for her.
"Thank you for coming."
"Don't thank me yet."
He nodded.
They sat in the corner booth where they had first spoken on Christmas Eve.
For a moment, neither said anything.
Then Emma asked, "What aren't you telling me?"
Vincent looked at her.
"Someone has been asking questions about you."
"I know. Daniel told me."
His expression tightened.
"I didn't want to frighten you."
Emma stared at him.
"Vincent, I am already frightened. Keeping me uninformed doesn't change that. It just makes me frightened and angry."
He lowered his gaze.
"You're right."
She sighed.
"I wish you would stop being reasonable when I'm trying to argue with you."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"Would you prefer that I disagree?"
"No. I would prefer that you explain things before they become emergencies."
He nodded.
Then he told her about the threat, the investigation, and the possibility that someone wanted to prevent the truth about Isabella's death from becoming public.
He did not minimize the risks.
He did not promise that everything would be fine.
He explained that his attorney was working with the authorities and that Daniel was coordinating practical security measures.
Emma listened carefully.
When he finished, she asked, "Do you think these people know about me because of the investigation, or because of us?"
"I don't know."
"Could it be both?"
"Yes."
She looked down at her hands.
That was the answer she had feared.
She cared about Vincent. She wanted to continue seeing him. She wanted to learn what it meant to be close to someone who had spent his life building walls around himself.
But she had not agreed to become a target in someone else's conflict.
"Vincent, I need you to hear me."
He leaned forward.
"I'm listening."
"I won't move into your house. I won't quit my jobs. I won't let your people decide where I can go. If there's a specific danger, I'll take reasonable precautions. But I won't surrender my entire life because someone has decided that knowing you makes me interesting."
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"I don't want you to surrender anything."
"Then don't ask me to."
He looked at her for a long time.
Finally, he nodded.
"All right."
Emma felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.
"Thank you."
"But I need you to agree to one thing."
She raised an eyebrow.
"That depends."
"If someone approaches you about me, you tell me. If you receive a threat, you tell me. And if you believe you're being followed, you don't confront the person yourself."
Emma considered this.
Those were reasonable requests.
"Agreed."
He exhaled.
For the first time since she arrived, he seemed to relax.
Then he said, "There's something else."
Emma waited.
"I've been thinking about what you said. About the way I tried to control Isabella's life because I thought I was protecting her."
She felt her chest tighten.
"What about it?"
"I don't want to repeat that mistake with you."
He reached across the table but stopped before touching her hand.
"I want you in my life. But I don't want you there because you feel responsible for me, or because you're afraid of what will happen if you leave."
Emma looked at him.
"I don't feel responsible for you."
"Good."
"And I'm not afraid of you."
He gave her a tired smile.
"I hope not."
"I'm afraid of the things I don't understand. That's different."
"I know."
She took his hand.
"I want to be here, Vincent. But I need this to be a relationship between two adults, not a man who thinks he has to save everyone and a woman who thinks she has to prove she can survive anything."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
"I think I can do that."
Emma smiled.
"Then let's try."
Three days later, the independent medical review produced its preliminary findings.
Vincent read the report in his office while Daniel waited nearby.
The report was careful and technical. It identified inconsistencies in the hospital's medication records and noted that the altered order could have affected Isabella's treatment.
But the reviewers could not establish who had made the changes or whether they had been intentional.
They recommended further investigation.
Vincent read the final paragraph twice.
Then he placed the report on the desk.
"Could someone have made a mistake?"
Daniel nodded.
"Yes."
"Could someone have changed the records deliberately?"
"Yes."
"And could the changes have contributed to her death?"
"The reviewers believe it's possible."
Vincent looked toward the window.
For weeks, he had imagined the discovery of the truth as a moment that would divide his life into before and after.
He had expected certainty.
A name.
An explanation.
Someone to hold responsible.
Instead, he had been given a collection of unanswered questions.
He was beginning to understand that grief did not always end with a revelation.
Sometimes it simply changed shape.
"Send the report to the police," he said.
Daniel looked at him.
"All of it?"
"All of it."
"Even the sections that could expose the foundation's financial problems?"
Vincent nodded.
"Especially those."
Daniel hesitated.
"That could damage several of your businesses."
"I know."
"Some investors may withdraw."
"I know."
"And if the investigation uncovers illegal activity connected to the foundation, you may face legal consequences."
Vincent looked at him.
"Then I'll face them."
Daniel said nothing for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"Understood."
After he left, Vincent sat alone with the report.
For most of his adult life, he had believed that protecting his empire was inseparable from protecting the people who depended on him.
He had justified compromises because he believed they prevented worse outcomes.
He had kept secrets because he thought the truth would cause unnecessary harm.
Now he was beginning to see that secrecy had not protected Isabella.
It had only made it harder for anyone to understand what had happened to her.
He picked up his phone and called Emma.
She answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"The medical review came back."
Her voice softened.
"What did it say?"
"We don't know whether the medication changes were deliberate. We don't know who made them. And we don't know whether they caused Isabella's death."
Emma was quiet.
"I'm sorry."
He closed his eyes.
"I thought finding answers would make this easier."
"Maybe it will eventually."
"Maybe."
"But you don't have to decide what it means today."
Vincent looked at the report.
"I keep thinking that if I had been there, I might have noticed something."
Emma's voice was gentle.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps you would have been there and still not known what was happening. You can't keep treating every possibility as proof that you failed her."
He swallowed.
"I don't know how to stop."
"Then don't try to stop all at once. Just try to be honest when the guilt comes. Tell someone. Let them help you carry it."
Vincent felt his eyes sting.
"You make that sound easy."
"It isn't easy. It's just better than pretending you're fine."
He laughed softly.
"I suppose you would know."
"I would."
They remained on the phone for several minutes.
Then Emma asked, "Would you like to come over for dinner?"
Vincent looked at the clock.
"What are you making?"
"Soup."
He smiled.
"Should I be concerned?"
"Only if you refuse to eat it."
"I would never make that mistake again."
"Good. Seven o'clock."
"I'll be there."
When the call ended, Vincent sat for a moment longer.
Then he gathered the report and walked toward the door.
He still had work to do.
There were questions to answer, lawyers to consult, and people who might not appreciate his decision to cooperate fully with the investigation.
But for the first time, he was not trying to solve everything before allowing himself to live.
He was going to dinner.
He was going to see Emma.
And he was going to learn how to be present in a life that no longer resembled the one he had imagined.
The dinner was simple.
Emma made chicken soup, roasted vegetables, and bread from a recipe Rosa had given her years earlier.
Vincent arrived with a small paper bag containing two pastries from a bakery near his office.
"No flowers?" Emma asked.
"I was told there should be no expensive gifts."
"Pastries are acceptable."
"Excellent."
They ate at the kitchen table.
For once, Vincent did not check his phone every few minutes. He had informed Daniel that he would be unavailable unless there was a genuine emergency.
Emma noticed.
She did not comment.
After dinner, they washed the dishes together.
Vincent dried while Emma washed, and he seemed genuinely confused when she handed him a plate without explaining where it belonged.
"Top cabinet," she said.
He opened the wrong cabinet.
"Other top cabinet."
He tried again.
"That's the refrigerator."
She began laughing.
Vincent stared at the open refrigerator.
"I have been doing this for forty-three years."
"Apparently, not very well."
He closed the refrigerator and turned toward her.
"You find this amusing."
"Extremely."
He caught her around the waist, gently enough that she could move away if she wished.
She laughed harder.
"Vincent!"
"Where do the plates go?"
"The cabinet beside the refrigerator."
He looked at it.
Then at her.
"You could have said that earlier."
"I did."
He kissed her.
The laughter faded into something quieter.
Emma rested her hands against his chest.
For a moment, they stood together in the small kitchen, surrounded by the ordinary evidence of a life neither had expected to share.
Then Vincent drew back.
"I need to tell you something."
Her expression changed.
"All right."
"I don't know what the future holds. I don't know what the investigation will uncover, or whether my business will survive the consequences of what I've done."
Emma listened.
"But I know I want to keep seeing you. Not because you make the grief disappear. Not because you make me feel less guilty. Because when I'm with you, I remember that there's still a world outside the worst thing that ever happened to me."
Emma's eyes filled.
She touched his face.
"I want that, too."
He kissed her forehead.
Then she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
She knew there would be difficult days ahead.
She knew that affection would not erase the danger surrounding him or the questions that remained about Isabella.
But she also knew that neither of them wanted to return to the lives they had been living before Christmas Eve.
They had begun to choose something different.
Not an escape from their pasts.
A chance to build a future that did not depend on pretending the past had never happened.
At eleven forty-seven that night, Vincent received a message from Daniel.
We have identified the person who delivered the photograph to Emma.
Vincent's expression hardened.
Who is he?
The reply came a minute later.
His name is Richard Hale. He is Adrian Cole's accountant.
Vincent stared at the screen.
Hale had been connected to the financial transfers from the foundation. He had also been linked to the shell companies through which the money had moved.
Now he had approached Emma.
Vincent typed another message.
Where is he?
Daniel replied:
His office. He has agreed to speak with the police tomorrow morning.
Vincent considered the message.
Then he wrote:
Make sure the police receive every document we have. No private meetings. No threats. Everything goes through the attorneys.
He put the phone away.
Emma appeared in the doorway.
"Is something wrong?"
Vincent looked at her.
"There may be another development in the investigation."
"Anything dangerous?"
"I don't know yet."
She nodded.
"Then we'll deal with it when we know more."
He crossed the room and took her hand.
For years, he had believed that love meant keeping danger away from the people he cared about, even if it required making decisions for them.
Now he was learning that love could also mean telling the truth, accepting uncertainty, and allowing another person to choose whether to stay.
He kissed Emma gently.
Then he turned off the kitchen light.
For once, he did not spend the rest of the night reviewing reports or trying to anticipate every possible disaster.
He sat beside her on the sofa and listened while she told him a story about Rosa's cats.
He laughed at the right moments.
He asked questions.
And when his phone vibrated, he left it on the table.
The world could wait a little longer.
For the first time in years, Vincent Duca was learning that being present was not a weakness.
It was a choice.
May you like
And he intended to keep making it.
End of Chapter 10
