Chapter 12 - The Two Men Who Should Never Have Met Again|
Camila followed Mia's voice through the dark upper hallway.
Lightning illuminated the windows for a brief instant.
At the far end of the corridor, her daughter stood beside a tall man in a rain-soaked coat.
Bubbles was tucked beneath one small arm.
In Mia's other hand were two pieces of tarnished silver pressed together to form an old compass.
The man standing behind her had Vincent Curado's face.
But his temples were graying, a scar crossed his eyebrow, and blood stained one sleeve of his jacket.
Camila stopped so abruptly that her bare feet slid on the polished floor.
“Adrien?”
He lifted his uninjured hand.
“She's safe.”
Mia smiled through her tears.
“Mommy, I fixed the circle.”
Camila stared at the compass.
Then she remembered the velvet pouch Vincent had left beside her daughter's bed.
Mia must have slipped it into her nightgown pocket before they fled.
The child had recognized the other silver piece when Adrien found her in the dark.
Now she held both halves together as though she had repaired a broken toy.
Adrien watched her with an expression of astonishment.
“It's been years since I've seen the pieces joined,” he whispered.
He looked up at Camila.
“I'm sorry I frightened you.”
“Your arm is bleeding.”
“It's a graze.”
“There's blood everywhere.”
“I've had worse.”
Footsteps sounded from the opposite staircase.
Vincent appeared with a flashlight in one hand.
He stopped when he saw the stranger.
“Adrien!”
The name came out with an urgency Camila had never heard from him before.
For several seconds, the brothers stared at each other.
Their faces were almost identical in the intermittent lightning.
But the years had left different burdens in their eyes.
A gunshot cracked through the lower floor.
Vincent crossed the hallway, lifted Mia into his arms, and turned toward the staircase.
Adrien stepped beside him rather than retreating.
For one extraordinary moment, the two brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, shielding the little girl from the danger below.
Then reality returned.
“We have to move,” Vincent said.
Adrien nodded toward the western corridor.
“The old servants' staircase is still open.”
“How did you get inside?”
“Through the lower garden entrance.”
“Who shot you?”
“One of Julian's men.”
Vincent's expression darkened.
“Where's the case?”
Adrien touched the inside of his coat.
“Still with me.”
They moved quickly through the servants' passage.
Camila took Mia from Vincent and held her close.
The little girl continued clutching the silver compass.
Desmond's voice sounded faintly from the staircase below.
“Vincent!”
“Here!”
The security chief appeared carrying an emergency lantern.
His face was streaked with dust.
“The radios are being jammed,” he said.
“And the generator controls have been damaged.”
“Can you reach Agent Morales?” Vincent asked.
“I've sent a distress message through the independent emergency connection.”
Desmond glanced toward Camila.
“She was already coordinating a response.”
“How long?”
“I don't know.”
A heavy crash echoed from the entrance hall.
Desmond turned sharply.
“Three of Julian's men came through the lower floor.”
“Where are they now?”
“Two are heading toward the study.”
“And the third?”
Desmond's expression hardened.
“I haven't accounted for him.”
Mrs. Alves appeared from a narrow side corridor.
She was breathing hard but otherwise unhurt.
When she saw Adrien, she stopped.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Good Lord.”
Adrien looked at her.
“Hello, Rosa.”
Tears immediately filled the older woman's eyes.
“I thought I'd never hear you say my name again.”
Adrien gave her a tired smile.
“I nearly didn't.”
Mrs. Alves reached for his uninjured hand.
“Your mother would have been so happy.”
Vincent looked away.
The words seemed to hurt him more than anything else.
Desmond led them into an old library adjoining the western wing.
The room had thick stone walls and a heavy door that could be secured from inside.
Mrs. Alves gathered medical supplies while Camila helped Adrien remove his damaged coat.
The bullet had torn through the outside of his upper arm.
It was painful and bleeding, but he remained alert.
Camila pressed a clean dressing against the wound.
“You need a doctor.”
“I need my brother to listen first.”
Vincent sat opposite him.
“I'm listening.”
Adrien withdrew the waterproof metal case from beneath his coat.
Its surface was scratched and discolored with age.
A small combination fastener secured the lid.
“I found this beneath the cellar floor,” he explained.
“Isabel hid it inside an insulated compartment.”
Mrs. Alves leaned forward.
“She made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone about that cellar.”
Vincent studied the case.
“What's the combination?”
Adrien shook his head.
“I haven't opened it.”
Mia suddenly climbed down from Camila's lap.
“Look,” she said.
She placed the joined compass on the table.
The brothers leaned closer.
Along the inner edge, tiny engraved marks formed a complete sequence.
They had been divided when the compass was separated.
Now the four digits were clear.
Zero, six, one, four.
Vincent stared at them.
“June fourteenth.”
Adrien looked at him.
“Our birthday.”
Their mother had used the date to create a code only the two brothers could reconstruct together.
Camila swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
Even decades earlier, Isabel had left behind a way for her sons to find each other.
Adrien carefully entered the digits into the old fastener.
The mechanism resisted.
Then it released with a metallic click.
Inside lay a sealed packet of documents, a small digital storage device, and a photograph wrapped in protective paper.
Vincent unfolded the photograph first.
It showed Isabel standing beside Warehouse Six shortly before the fire.
A second figure stood near the loading doors.
Julian Voss.
On the back, Isabel had written a date and a single sentence.
I saw who gave the order.
Beneath the photograph was a letter addressed to both sons.
Vincent began reading aloud.
Their mother's words described years of fear, her growing suspicion that Julian had taken control of the family's illegal operations, and her failed attempts to persuade Salvatore to expose him.
She had kept copies of the records in case anything happened to her.
Her letter named the night watchman who had died in the fire.
It also stated that the remains identified as Adrien's had never been independently verified.
The final paragraph made Vincent's voice falter.
My boys, neither of you was responsible for the hatred that separated you.
But both of you must decide what kind of men you will become after learning the truth.
Adrien stared at the letter.
For twenty-five years, he had carried anger toward the brother who believed he was dead.
Vincent had carried grief for a brother he thought he had lost.
Now their mother's handwriting lay between them, asking for something neither man knew how to give.
A sharp metallic sound interrupted the silence.
Someone was trying the library door.
Desmond motioned for everyone to remain still.
The handle turned again.
Then a familiar voice spoke from the corridor.
“Vincent, I know you're in there.”
Julian Voss sounded almost amused.
“Open the door, and perhaps we can finish this without another tragedy.”
Mia buried her face against Camila's shoulder.
May you like
Vincent stood slowly.
And Adrien, despite his injured arm, reached for the metal case.
