Chapter 4 - The Truth on the Table
The barrel of Carmine’s gun was four feet from Alice’s face.
She didn't run. She didn't drop her clipboard. She stood beside the bed with her feet shoulder-width apart, her hands resting easily at her sides.
Nero didn't bark. He stepped between Carmine and Alice, his broad back rigid, his upper lip pulling back to reveal three inches of pink gum and white teeth. A sound began deep inside the dog’s chest—a sound like grinding stones.
"Put the gun down, Carmine," Danny said, his own hand disappearing into his coat.
"She’s a Vance!" Carmine shouted, his eyes wild. "Her uncle ran the North End docks before Stefano took them in '19! Her father was Vance's chief of security! She was sent here to finish what the fire started!"
"If I wanted him dead," Alice said, her voice dropping into that same quiet, icy tone she had used in the great hall, "I wouldn't have pressed his liver back into his abdominal wall with my bare hands."
"You did that to gain access!" Carmine yelled. "To get inside the perimeter!"
"Quiet."
The word was spoken softly, but it cut through the room like a cold iron bolt.
Stefano Marquetti had not raised his voice, but he had lifted his right hand.
Carmine hesitated, the barrel of his gun trembling slightly. "Stefano, she lied about her name. She lied about her background—"
"I asked you to put the gun down," Stefano repeated. His hazel eyes were fixed on Carmine’s face. "If you make me say it a third time, Danny will drop you where you stand."
Carmine swallowed hard. His jaw twitched, but he slowly lowered the automatic and tucked it back into his waistband.
Stefano turned his head slowly on the pillow to look at Alice.
"Alexandra," he said, testing the name on his tongue. "Your father was Richard Vance. He ran the logistics network out of New Haven until the federal sweep five years ago."
"My father was a logistics contractor," Alice corrected him, her voice calm. "He didn't run anything. He moved crates for whoever paid the invoice. When your family took the docks, my uncle left him to take the federal indictment alone."
"And your uncle?" Stefano asked.
"Dead," Alice said flatly. "He died in a car fire off Route 9 three years ago. You know that. Your men set the charge."
Stefano’s face remained unreadable. "And you went to nursing school."
"I was already in nursing school," she said. "I finished my clinicals in Boston under my mother's maiden name because I didn't want my father's creditors—or your men—showing up at my apartment at two in the morning."
She took a step toward the bed, ignoring Carmine completely.
"I didn't know who was in that mansion last night," Alice said, looking directly into Stefano’s eyes. "I was on duty at County General when the perimeter call came through. I came because a human being was bleeding to death on a stone floor. I stayed because your dog was injured and your men were too stupid to put their guns away."
Stefano looked down at the dog. Nero had relaxed slightly, but he still stood between Alice and the rest of the room, his heavy tail giving a single, slow thump against the floorboards.
"Nero doesn't like the Vances," Stefano noted quietly. "My uncle had two of them shot in front of him when he was a pup. He knows their smell."
He looked back up at Alice.
"He doesn't smell a Vance on you," Stefano said.
"That’s because I’m not one," Alice said. "I haven't taken a dollar from that family since I was nineteen years old. I work thirty-six hours a week at a public hospital, I pay my own rent, and I don't give a damn about your docks or your fire."
She picked up her bag from the bedside chair, pulled her jacket over her grey scrubs, and turned toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Carmine snapped.
Alice stopped at the threshold. She didn't look back at Carmine; she looked at Danny.
"His dressing needs to be inspected at four PM," she said. "Use sterile water only. If he spikes a fever over a hundred and one, give him four hundred milligrams of intravenous vancomycin and call Dr. Mercer."
"Alice," Stefano called out.
She paused, her hand on the silver door handle.
"You think you can walk out of here and go back to your shift?" Stefano asked, his dark voice carrying a strange, heavy weight. "The men who shot me know who saved my life. They were watching the ambulance logs. By now, they have your name."
Alice’s fingers tightened on the door handle.
"They have the name Alice Brennan," she said.
"They have your address," Stefano corrected her. "They know about the apartment near the docks. They know about the greyhound."
Alice went perfectly still. For the first time since she had walked into the great hall thirteen hours ago, a faint flicker of pale emotion crossed her face.
"My dog," she whispered.
"Danny sent two men to your apartment forty minutes ago," Stefano said, leaning his head back against the pillow. "The front door was already kicked in. The greyhound is in the back of my car downstairs."
Alice turned slowly, her face white as paper, her gray eyes burning with a sudden, lethal brightness.
"If your men touched her—"
"She’s fine," Stefano interrupted softly. "She’s eating a piece of cooked chicken in the back of my Suburban. But your apartment is gone, Alexandra. And as of ten minutes ago, so is your clean record."
May you like
He pointed a thin finger toward the window.
"You're in this now," Stefano said. "Not because you chose to be, but because you were the only person in this city who was brave enough—or stupid enough—to touch my dog."
