Chapter 8 - The House with No Number.
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Anthony chose a house that did not officially exist.
Vincent found that insulting.
Not because hidden properties were unusual. Half the men who had worked for Luca Morelli kept places under trusts, shell companies, cousins’ names, former wives, charities, or corporations so old nobody remembered who had formed them.
What insulted Vincent was that the house had once belonged to him.
He discovered it through a property map in Luca’s notebook.
A narrow parcel near Scituate Reservoir.
No street number.
No mailbox.
No listed owner.
Just a small black square drawn beside a handwritten A.
Anthony.
Vincent stood in the mansion’s war room—a name Marco had given the study after too many sleepless nights—and stared at satellite images on a monitor.
Elena joined them by encrypted video.
Rachel, with one arm in a cast, sat on the sofa against medical orders.
Marco leaned against the desk.
Elias Ward stood near the window drinking coffee.
Maria sat with Sophie upstairs under guard.
And Damian was somewhere inside the unnumbered house with less than four hours remaining.
Vincent pointed at the screen.
“One access road.”
Ward shook his head.
“One visible access road.”
Elena said, “There’s a boat landing on the west side.”
Vincent looked toward her image.
“You’ve been there.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before I disappeared.”
“With Anthony?”
“With Luca.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
Another memory his mother had carried alone.
“What was the property used for?”
“Meetings nobody wanted associated with the family.”
“Useful.”
“There’s also a service tunnel from the old pump building.”
Marco looked up.
“That’s very useful.”
Elena continued.
“If it hasn’t collapsed.”
“Less useful,” Ward said.
Vincent zoomed in.
The pump building sat near the waterline, two hundred yards from the house.
“Anthony will expect the road and landing.”
“He’ll expect you,” Elena said.
“Yes.”
“You should give him what he asked for.”
Everyone in the room looked at the screen.
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“No.”
“He wants me.”
“He wants leverage.”
“I am leverage.”
“You are also my mother.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Elena went silent.
Vincent looked away.
Rachel saw everything.
She always did.
Elena said softly, “You called me your mother.”
“I identified a relationship. Don’t make it sentimental.”
Rachel coughed to hide a smile.
Vincent glared at her.
She looked innocent.
Ward placed his coffee down.
“Anthony expects a trade. We can use that.”
“No police,” Vincent said.
Ward folded his arms.
“I am aware you have religious objections to law enforcement.”
“He has people inside departments.”
“So did you.”
“Exactly.”
Marco pointed at the reservoir.
“I can take the tunnel.”
“No,” Vincent said.
“Why?”
“Because if it collapses, I need someone above ground who knows how to think without asking Damian.”
Marco absorbed the sentence.
It was not praise.
From Vincent, it was close.
Rachel said, “Then who goes through the tunnel?”
Vincent looked at Ward.
Ward laughed.
“No.”
Vincent waited.
Ward sighed.
“I hate your entire family.”
“Noted.”
They moved quickly.
Elena would appear to arrive at the house in Vincent’s sedan.
But the passenger would be Maria wearing Elena’s red coat and gray wig until the car reached the final bend.
Then Maria would exit into a second vehicle hidden behind trees.
Vincent hated using her.
Maria hated his objection more.
“I was married to a man who lied for sport,” she told him. “I raised three boys. Anthony Morelli does not scare me.”
“He should.”
“Then he can get in line.”
Vincent stopped arguing.
At one fifteen in the afternoon, they left.
Sophie waited in the upstairs hall.
Vincent had tried to leave without seeing her.
She had apparently anticipated that.
Children learned adult cowardice quickly.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Vincent adjusted his coat.
“To get Damian.”
She frowned.
“The bad uncle?”
Vincent considered the description.
“Yes.”
“Is he bad?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you?”
The question landed harder.
Maria looked away.
Vincent crouched.
“Yes.”
Sophie blinked.
She had expected denial.
He continued.
“People are not only one thing.”
“Mommy says that.”
“Your mommy is annoying.”
Sophie almost smiled.
“Is Uncle Damian gonna come back?”
“I’m going to try.”
“You said that about Mommy.”
“And she came back.”
Sophie touched the stuffed fox.
Then she held it out.
“Take him.”
Vincent looked at the toy.
“No.”
“For luck.”
“I don’t believe in luck.”
Sophie pushed the fox into his hands.
“Maybe luck believes in you.”
Nobody in the hall spoke.
Vincent took the fox.
“Fine.”
He tucked it inside his coat.
Marco stared when Vincent entered the car.
“Is that a stuffed animal?”
“No.”
“It is absolutely a stuffed animal.”
“Drive.”
They reached the reservoir under low clouds.
Ward entered the pump building first.
Vincent followed.
The tunnel had not collapsed.
It had simply become miserable.
Cold water covered their shoes. Roots pushed through cracks. Rusted conduits hung from the ceiling.
Ward muttered, “I retired for this.”
“You retired because nobody liked you.”
“That too.”
They reached a steel ladder beneath the house forty minutes later.
Vincent checked his watch.
Two hours left.
At the top, they found a locked maintenance door.
Ward listened.
Nothing.
Vincent opened it with a copied key Elena had described.
They emerged into a cellar.
Old wine racks.
Boiler.
Generator.
A single naked bulb.
Voices came from above.
Anthony’s.
And another man.
Peter.
Vincent looked at Ward.
They climbed the cellar stairs.
A door separated them from the kitchen.
Anthony’s voice carried through it.
“You should have left Providence when I told you.”
Peter answered shakily.
“I tried.”
“No. You hid. Different thing.”
“You burned the warehouse.”
“You left me no choice.”
“You were going to kill all of us.”
Anthony laughed.
“You say that as though it would have been personal.”
Vincent’s expression did not change.
Ward whispered, “Charming family.”
Peter continued.
“The boy will never give you Elena.”
“He will.”
“He hates her.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“How?”
“Vincent’s weakness has never been love.”
Peter sounded confused.
Anthony said, “Responsibility.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
Anthony understood him.
That made him dangerous.
“He thinks every person under his roof becomes his problem,” Anthony continued. “Rachel. the child. Damian. Elena. Even Luca, and Luca is dead. He collects obligations and calls them loyalty.”
Peter said, “And what do you call it?”
“A leash.”
Vincent opened the door.
Anthony looked toward the kitchen.
For one second, surprise erased twelve years from his face.
Then he smiled.
“There’s my nephew.”
Peter stepped back.
Vincent entered.
Ward remained hidden behind the door.
Anthony wore a cream sweater and dark trousers.
No visible weapon.
Peter looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Eyes red.
Hands trembling.
“Where’s Damian?” Vincent asked.
Anthony smiled.
“No hello?”
“You had twelve years.”
“That’s fair.”
“Damian.”
“Upstairs.”
“Alive?”
“For now.”
Peter suddenly said, “Vincent, I—”
“Stop.”
Peter stopped.
Vincent looked at him.
“You drugged Rachel.”
Peter’s face collapsed.
“I panicked.”
“You helped bury a stranger under my brother’s name.”
Peter began to cry.
Anthony rolled his eyes.
“God, Peter.”
Vincent ignored him.
“You helped hide my mother’s false death.”
Peter nodded.
“You helped cover my father’s murder.”
Peter’s knees almost gave.
“Yes.”
Vincent stared.
“Why?”
“I was afraid.”
“That explanation is becoming crowded.”
Anthony laughed.
Vincent looked at him.
“Where is Elena?”
“On the way.”
Anthony’s smile widened.
“Good.”
“She is not coming inside until I see Damian.”
“Still giving orders.”
“In a room where you kidnapped my man? Yes.”
Anthony’s smile faded slightly.
He gestured toward the stairs.
“Second floor. Last room.”
Vincent moved.
Anthony raised one finger.
“Slowly.”
Vincent stopped.
Anthony took out a small remote.
“One button.”
Vincent looked at it.
“Another warehouse?”
“I learned from the classics.”
“What does it do?”
“Locks the upstairs hall and releases enough carbon monoxide to make everyone sleepy forever.”
Peter stared at him.
“You said no more killing.”
Anthony looked amused.
“You believed me?”
Peter’s face changed.
Something broke there.
Not courage exactly.
Exhaustion.
Twenty-two years of fear reaching its final limit.
He stepped toward Anthony.
Anthony turned.
Peter slapped the remote from his hand.
It hit the floor.
Vincent moved.
Anthony drew a pistol from his waistband.
Ward came through the kitchen door.
“Drop it!”
Anthony fired once.
The shot shattered a cabinet.
Vincent drove Anthony against the counter.
The gun skidded away.
Peter kicked the remote under the refrigerator.
Ward pinned Anthony’s arm.
Marco’s voice suddenly came through Vincent’s earpiece.
“Boss. Exterior team moving. Six men.”
Vincent had almost forgotten Marco was outside.
“Hold them.”
“Working on it.”
Gunfire cracked faintly beyond the windows.
Not a battle.
Warning shots.
Shouting.
Vincent looked at Anthony.
“You brought an army.”
Anthony smiled through a split lip.
“I brought insurance.”
Ward cuffed one wrist to a radiator pipe.
Vincent grabbed Peter.
“Damian.”
Peter pointed upstairs.
They ran.
The last room was locked.
Peter had the key.
Inside, Damian sat tied to a chair.
His shirt was bloodied, but he was conscious.
He looked at Vincent.
“You came.”
Vincent cut the rope.
“Don’t sound touched.”
Damian tried to stand.
His legs failed.
Vincent caught him.
Damian laughed weakly.
“Now we’re even.”
“We will never be even.”
“Fair.”
A phone rang downstairs.
Anthony shouted, “Vincent!”
They returned to the kitchen.
Anthony’s phone vibrated on the counter.
Peter looked terrified.
Anthony smiled.
“You should answer.”
Vincent picked it up.
“Who is this?”
A woman spoke.
Calm.
Educated.
Familiar.
“Mr. Morelli.”
Vincent knew the voice from television interviews and charity events.
Claire Mercer.
Federal prosecutor.
Daughter of Julian Mercer.
She sounded almost disappointed.
“You were supposed to bring Elena.”
Vincent looked at Anthony.
His uncle’s smile disappeared.
Claire continued.
“Anthony has always struggled to follow instructions.”
Vincent understood.
Anthony was not running the game.
Not even close.
“What do you want?”
“The fourth ledger.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Then find it.”
“Why?”
“Because your father stole something that belongs to my family.”
Vincent looked toward Peter.
Peter shook his head rapidly.
Claire said, “And Vincent?”
“Yes?”
“Do not trust Sebastian Vale.”
“That advice is late.”
“No. It is exactly on time.”
The line ended.
Anthony cursed.
Vincent put down the phone.
“You work for Mercer.”
Anthony looked away.
“For years?”
No answer.
Peter whispered, “Since before Luca died.”
Vincent turned.
Peter’s voice shook.
“Anthony wasn’t trying to take over the network.”
“What was he doing?”
“Keeping it intact.”
Anthony glared at him.
“Shut up.”
Peter continued.
“Luca found out Julian Mercer had altered the agreement. He wanted out. Anthony told Mercer.”
Vincent looked at his uncle.
“You sold your brother.”
Anthony’s face hardened.
“I saved this family.”
Vincent’s expression turned almost peaceful.
Marco entered through the rear door with two men behind him.
“Exterior clear.”
He saw Anthony cuffed to the radiator.
“Aw. Family reunion.”
Vincent took the stuffed fox from inside his coat.
Damian blinked.
“Is that Sophie’s?”
“No.”
Marco grinned despite himself.
Vincent ignored them.
He looked at Peter.
“Where is the fourth ledger?”
Peter swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Anthony laughed.
Vincent turned to him.
Anthony said, “But I do.”
Everyone went still.
Anthony smiled.
“And you will never find it without me.”
Vincent stepped closer.
Anthony looked pleased with himself.
Then Sophie’s stuffed fox slipped from Vincent’s hand and hit the floor.
Something clicked inside it.
Not paper.
Metal.
Vincent frowned.
He picked it up.
The seam he had cut earlier had opened wider.
Inside, beneath the stuffing, was a small brass key.
Attached to it was a tag.
ST. CATHERINE — BELL.
Peter went white.
Anthony stopped smiling.
Vincent held up the key.
May you like
It turned out the child had been carrying more than one secret.
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