Chapter 6 - THE HOUSE IN VERMONT
The farmhouse sat alone beneath a line of pine trees outside Stowe, Vermont.
Lorenzo arrived before dawn.
No convoy.
No visible weapons.
Only Antonio driving and two trusted men following far behind.
Lorenzo had spent the entire flight staring at the border photograph.
Isabella.
Older somehow.
Thinner.
Alive.
The little girl in her arms looked nearly nine months old.
Their daughter.
Lucia.
Isabella had chosen the name before the birth.
Lucia DeLuca.
Lorenzo had whispered it to an empty coffin.
Now she might be sleeping less than fifty yards away.
Antonio stopped the SUV.
“You want me with you?”
“No.”
Lorenzo walked alone.
The porch light was on.
He reached the door.
Before he knocked, it opened.
Father Gabriel stood there.
The priest looked ten years older than he had eight months earlier.
For several seconds neither man spoke.
Then Gabriel stepped aside.
“She knew you'd eventually find the trail.”
Lorenzo entered.
His eyes searched every corner.
“Where is she?”
Gabriel nodded toward the back room.
Lorenzo moved.
Then stopped.
A woman stood in the doorway.
Her chestnut hair was shorter.
A pale scar crossed the left side of her face.
She was thinner.
But her eyes were unchanged.
Candlelight eyes.
Isabella.
Lorenzo's legs almost failed him.
She pressed one hand over her mouth.
He couldn't move.
Neither could she.
Eight months of grief stood between them.
Eight months of funerals.
Blood.
Questions.
Nightmares.
Then a baby cried.
Isabella turned.
Lorenzo saw the crib.
He crossed the room slowly.
Inside lay a little girl with dark hair and Isabella's eyes.
Lucia.
Lorenzo gripped the side of the crib.
His hands shook.
“She's real.”
Isabella began crying.
“Yes.”
Lorenzo reached toward the child.
Then stopped before touching her.
“Can I?”
Isabella nodded.
He lifted Lucia carefully.
The baby stared at him.
Then grabbed his tie.
A sound escaped Lorenzo.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
He buried his face against his daughter's hair.
For the first time since he was a boy, Lorenzo DeLuca cried without trying to hide it.
Isabella watched him.
Then her expression changed.
Fear returned.
“We don't have much time.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“No one followed us.”
“That isn't what I mean.”
She locked the door.
“Marco knows I'm alive.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
“Tell me everything.”
Isabella sat across from him.
Lucia remained in Lorenzo's arms.
“The convoy attack wasn't about killing me.”
“Then what?”
“Taking her.”
“Why?”
Isabella's voice dropped.
“Because Lucia isn't only your daughter.”
Lorenzo frowned.
Isabella reached into a drawer.
She removed a sealed envelope.
“My father left this for me before he died.”
Lorenzo knew Isabella's father had been a respected shipping magnate.
He had never understood why several old families treated the Conti name like royalty.
Isabella handed him the letter.
“My father controlled something Marco has been trying to find for eleven years.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
“What kind of ledger?”
“The kind that could destroy judges, senators, corporations, police commanders, and three crime families.”
Lorenzo looked at Lucia.
“Why does Marco need my daughter?”
Isabella whispered.
“Because my father hid the key in a trust that transfers only to my firstborn child.”
A vehicle engine sounded outside.
Gabriel rushed to the window.
Headlights appeared between the trees.
Then another pair.
And another.
Isabella turned white.
Lorenzo handed Lucia back to her.
“How many exits?”
Gabriel answered.
“One basement tunnel.”
Lorenzo pulled out his phone.
No signal.
Antonio's voice suddenly shouted from outside.
May you like
“Lorenzo!”
Gunfire shattered the front window.
