Chapter 9
We reached the art therapy center in nine minutes.
It should have taken eighteen.
Vincent drove like the laws of traffic had personally insulted him.
Sarah sat beside me in the back seat, gripping her phone, calling the therapist over and over.
No answer.
My heart pounded.
Too fast.
The device under my skin waited.
I pressed two fingers to my wrist and breathed.
In.
Hold.
Out.
Not now.
Do not fail her now.
When we arrived, the front door was open.
That was wrong.
The security guard was on the floor, alive but dazed.
Vincent drew his weapon.
Sarah ran before I could stop her.
“Lily!”
I followed.
The hallway smelled like paint and panic.
A chair lay overturned.
Small drawings scattered across the floor.
Then I heard Lily scream.
Not from fear.
From anger.
“Let go of me!”
We turned the corner.
Volkov’s nephew, Anton, stood near the rear exit with one arm around Lily and a gun in his hand.
My daughter’s face was red with fury.
Her cheeks were wet.
But she was fighting.
Sarah made a sound that did not seem human.
Anton pressed the gun tighter.
“Stop.”
Vincent froze.
I lifted both hands.
“Anton.”
He smiled nervously.
“You know my name. Good. Then you know what I want.”
“Volkov is done.”
“No. He can still deal if he has something worth trading.”
Lily shouted, “I am not something!”
My heart cracked with pride and terror.
Anton jerked her back.
“Quiet.”
Sarah stepped forward.
I caught her arm.
She fought me.
“Sarah,” I whispered. “Trust me for ten seconds.”
She looked at me with pure agony.
Then stopped.
I looked at Anton.
“You won’t get out with her.”
“I will if you order your dog to lower his gun.”
Vincent did not blink.
I said, “Vincent.”
His jaw clenched.
Then slowly, he lowered it.
Anton smiled.
That smile told me he was young.
Too young.
Too desperate.
Not a strategist.
A final spark from a dying fire.
“You think my uncle won’t trade?” Anton said.
“No. I think he’ll let you die and call you foolish.”
His smile faltered.
“He is family.”
“So was Marco.”
Anton’s eyes flickered.
Good.
He knew.
I stepped forward slowly.
“My daughter is not your way out.”
“She is leverage.”
“No,” I said. “She is a little girl who likes drawing stars and hates peas and has already seen more courage than you will ever own.”
Lily stared at me.
Anton’s hand shook.
The gun shifted.
Vincent saw it.
So did I.
But Sarah moved first.
Not toward Anton.
Toward Lily.
She dropped to her knees.
“Lily, look at me.”
Lily sobbed.
“Mommy.”
“Remember our game? When I say blue, you duck.”
Anton snapped, “Shut up.”
Sarah screamed, “Blue!”
Lily dropped.
Vincent fired.
One shot.
Anton’s gun flew from his hand as he collapsed, screaming, hit in the arm.
I lunged and pulled Lily away.
Sarah crashed into us both.
For one moment, we were on the floor, tangled together, alive.
Lily sobbed into my chest.
“Dad, Dad, Dad.”
The word came over and over.
I held her with my good arm, shaking so hard I could barely breathe.
“I’ve got you.”
Sarah held both of us.
Vincent secured Anton.
Sirens approached.
My heart hammered once.
Twice.
Then the defibrillator fired.
Pain exploded through my chest.
I fell back.
Sarah screamed my name.
The world flashed white.
Then returned.
Dr. Maren had told me what it would feel like.
A horse kick from inside the ribs.
She had undersold it.
I gasped.
Lily cried harder.
“Daddy!”
“I’m here,” I rasped.
Sarah’s hands were on my face.
“Stay.”
“I am.”
“Adrian, stay.”
“I am.”
For once, my body listened.
The ambulance took me in.
Lily refused to let go of my hand until Sarah climbed in with her.
Vincent rode behind us, blood on his sleeve that was not his.
At the hospital, Dr. Maren stood over me looking furious.
“I told you stress could kill you.”
I managed, “You should see the other guy.”
She did not laugh.
Lily did.
A tiny, wet laugh from the chair beside my bed.
That laugh saved me more than the device had.
Anton survived.
He was arrested.
Volkov’s remaining leverage collapsed.
Marco testified.
Volkov took a deal that would keep him buried in prison for decades.
Men in my organization who disliked my new direction suddenly found federal agents very persuasive.
Justice did not clean the past.
But it blocked the future from repeating it.
A week later, Lily visited with a new drawing.
This one had no black scribble.
Only three people.
A house.
A sun.
And a man with a face, a scar, and a red heart drawn on his chest.
“That’s your machine heart,” she said.
I smiled.
“It’s called a defibrillator.”
“Machine heart is better.”
Sarah stood behind her.
“I agree.”
Lily climbed carefully onto the bed.
She rested her head near my uninjured shoulder.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“When you get better, can we go somewhere with no bad men?”
I looked at Sarah.
She looked back.
May you like
For once, hope did not feel dangerous.
“Yes,” I said. “We can.”
