Chapter 5 - Anchors in the Dark
Before they moved, Vincent climbed the stairs back to his master bedroom.
The room was bathed in the warm, dim light of a bedside lamp. Emma and Noah were curled up together in the center of the king-sized bed, surrounded by a fortress of down pillows. They were awake, their small eyes wide, watching the shadows dance across the high ceiling.
When the door opened, both children tensed, relaxing only when Vincent and Hannah stepped into the room.
"Daddy," Noah whispered, sitting up. He was clutching a small plush penguin Claire had bought him at the Central Park Zoo. "Are we going on an airplane?"
Vincent sat on the edge of the mattress, gathering both twins into his lap. The brutal don who controlled millions of tons of illicit shipping vanished entirely; in his place was a man whose heart was beating outside his chest.
"Not an airplane, buddy," Vincent said, smoothing Noah’s tangled brown hair. "We’re going on a little road trip with Miss Hannah. Just for a couple of days."
"Is the glass fixed in our room?" Emma asked, her voice small.
Hannah knelt beside the bed, eye-level with the little girl. She had washed the blood from her temple, and though a dark bruise was blooming near her hairline, her smile was completely tranquil.
"The room is getting remodeled, sweetie," Hannah said, her voice like warm honey. "We're going to pick new paint colors when we get back. What do you think about pale blue?"
"I want yellow," Emma said timidly. "Like the sun at Montauk."
Vincent’s chest tightened painfully. Montauk. The photograph on his desk. The last summer they were whole.
"Yellow it is," Vincent promised, kissing the top of Emma’s head. "Miss Hannah is going to take you to a special place where we can watch the big ships come into the bay. Would you like that?"
Noah looked at Hannah, then back at his father. "Miss Hannah was flying," he whispered.
Vincent paused. "What do you mean, Noah?"
"When the bad man came through the window," Noah said, his eyes wide with awe. "Miss Hannah didn't run. She flew through the air like a superhero. She knocked him right over."
Vincent glanced at Hannah. Her pale cheeks showed the faintest hint of pink, her professional detachment cracking for a fraction of a second.
"Superheroes wear capes, Noah," Hannah said softly. "I just wear cardigans."
"You kicked him," Noah insisted. "It was cool."
"It was necessary," Hannah corrected gently. "Now, I need both of you to be very brave. We are going to put on our warm coats, our heavy boots, and we are going to play the quiet game until we get into the car. Who is the champion of the quiet game?"
"Me!" Emma whispered enthusiastically.
"I am!" Noah countered under his breath.
"We’ll see," Hannah said, helping them down from the bed.
Vincent watched her zip Emma’s pink parka with practiced, motherly care. There was no hesitation in her hands, no tremor of adrenaline. She was a woman who could snap a femur with a levered heel and then patiently tie a five-year-old’s shoelaces.
As Hannah turned to lead the children toward the private service elevator, Vincent caught her by the forearm. He didn't squeeze, but the grip was firm.
"Hannah," he said.
She paused, looking down at his hand, then up into his dark, storm-filled eyes.
"Thank you," Vincent said. It was a word that rarely crossed his lips. In his world, gratitude was paid in envelopes of cash or deeds to real estate. But this came from somewhere deeper—a dark, raw place that hadn't seen the light since Claire took her last breath.
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Hannah looked at him, her gray-green eyes softening just a fraction. "They are Claire’s children, Vincent. And for the last nineteen days, they’ve been mine, too. Nobody touches them."
***
