10. Vinnie

10

VINNIE

P lease help me.

I discreetly shove the note back in my pocket.

Now what?

Is my grandfather going to join McAllister for a cigar? Because if he does, I’ll be obligated to join too. Which perhaps isn’t a bad thing. The longer I’m here, the better chance I may have to get to Belinda. To find out why she needs my help.

But on the other hand, how do I do that?

How do I try to get a little girl alone without looking like a bona fide creep?

Without feeling like a bona fide creep?

I know my intentions are honorable, but no one else will.

The fact that I’m promised to this girl makes the whole thing even more disgusting.

Why did she give me this note? Is someone harming her?

She lives here with McAllister. Her mother passed away a few years ago. As far as I know, she and Miles have the same mother, despite their age difference.

There’s got to be a story there, but I don’t know it.

She has a butler, a housekeeper, and a nanny, so she’s not alone here with her father.

But I also know what her father does for a living.

He traffics not only in drugs but in human beings.

God only knows what he’s doing to this little girl.

Or it could be something simpler.

Perhaps she knows of our impending nuptials, and she wants my help getting out of it. That help I’d be happy to give her. Of course, I can’t tell her that if everything goes according to my plan, neither one of us will be bound into that marriage by the time she’s eighteen.

Maybe that’s all it is.

But my God, what if it’s something horrible?

She’s a child.

And she’s asking for my help.

I have to help her.

When my grandfather and McAllister rise, I follow suit.

“When’s the last time you smoked a Cuban, Vinnie?” McAllister asks.

“Not since I was in Europe,” I say.

He grins. “Today’s your lucky day. Let’s go out on the veranda, shall we?”

“Absolutely.” I nod. “But if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom first.”

“Of course. There’s one right off the foyer.” He points. “Meet us out back.”

I nod. “Looking forward to it.” I’d be a moron to think that this entire house isn’t surveilled, but I have to take a chance. This little girl’s life might be depending on me.

Once my grandfather and McAllister leave the dining room, I walk out into the foyer as well, where I locate the door leading to the powder room.

I don’t actually have to use the facilities, so I head back into the living room where I assume I will find Belinda at the piano.

But she’s not there. When her nanny mentioned a lesson, she must have meant a different kind of lesson.

I walk out of the family room and down a hallway lined with doors. This house is huge. About the same size as my grandfather’s.

I find one door cracked open, and inside I hear Belinda reciting.

Some type of academic lesson apparently.

I shouldn’t interrupt, but how else am I going to find out what’s going on with her?

What the hell? I push the door open.

Belinda stops talking, darting her gaze to me. It’s the first time she’s actually looked me in the eyes since I got here. Seated across from her is the young woman who I thought was her nanny. Perhaps she’s more like a teacher.

“Excuse me,” I say. “I must’ve gotten lost.”

I look Belinda in the eye, hoping that I’m showing her kindness, showing her that she can talk to me.

“Are you okay, Belinda?” I ask.

She doesn’t respond.

The nanny rises and comes toward me. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Do I trust the nanny? She’s a young woman—no more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old. I look again to Belinda, and she gives me a slight nod.

I take it at face value. I pull the note out of my pocket and show it to the nanny.

She nods, picks up her purse, pulls out a card, and hands it to me.

“Now go,” she whispers right into my ear. “Quickly, before they miss you.”

Only then do I see the camera mounted at the top of the door. By sheer luck I managed to stay out of its sight. But no doubt they heard the sounds I made.

I’ll stick with my story of getting lost. Even though McAllister told me point-blank the bathroom was off the foyer. Maybe he’ll believe I’m just that stupid.

I’ll have to trust the nanny to take care of it. Maybe there isn’t a sound system. Maybe only a camera. I don’t know.

I can’t worry about it now.

I’m in too deep.

When a child asks me for help, I have to help her.

I should’ve been around to help Mikey and Savannah. Maybe helping Belinda will help me make up for that, help me feel less guilt.

She looks fine and healthy. Not a mark on her. But not all abuse leaves marks. And the most private parts of her are covered.

I don’t dare look at the card the nanny gave me. I’ll deal with that alone. It may be a phone number, a meeting place, only a name. I don’t know.

At the moment I need to get back out to the deck and smoke a Cuban with two men I detest.

At least a delicious Cuban will make it bearable.

Grandfather and McAllister are already lit up and nursing brandies when I appear outside.

“Vinnie,” McAllister says, “sit down right here. I picked out a robust Cohiba for you. Already cut.”

“Obliged,” I say as I take a seat.

I take the lighter he offers and light the cigar, inhaling a bit of the smoke. Cubans are great, no lie about that. There’s nothing like it. This one has a Sumatra wrapper, and it tastes of smoky caramel.

“Brandy?” McAllister asks.

“No, thank you. A lot of work to do when I get back to the office.”

I’ve already had wine and a drink before lunch. But I’d like for Grandfather and McAllister to keep drinking. In vino veritas and all.

So I change my mind. “On second thought, I will have a drink.”

“That’s the ticket, Vinnie.” McAllister pours me a brandy.

I take it, nodding my thanks, and take a small sip.

Except I don’t actually take a sip. I feign it. Let them think I’m drinking. That way they might be a little more loose-tongued.

“So Vinnie, my boy,” McAllister says. “What do you think of my lovely Belinda?”

Oh, God help me. He wants me to assess a child.

“She’s very pretty and quite talented,” I say.

Right. That didn’t make me sound creepy at all.

“She is that,” Grandfather agrees. “She looks a lot like her late mother, may she rest in peace.”

“Yes,” McAllister says. “Sienna was a lovely woman. I miss her every day.” He takes a puff from his cigar. “Already my Belinda is blossoming into a woman.” He elbows me. “She’ll be ready for you soon, son.”

A fresh wave of nausea envelops my throat, and I have to stop myself from coughing from the cigar smoke.

She’s a little girl. No evidence of blossoming whatsoever. At least not from what I can see.

Of course, he is her father. He’s watched her grow up. And even if he hasn’t, he’s probably received reports from her doctors about how she’s developing.

God, I hope that’s the case.

“You all right there, Gallo?” McAllister asks.

I swallow. “Yeah, just inhaled a bit by mistake.”

McAllister exchanges a look with my grandfather, but then they continue to prattle on.

I nod, murmur agreement every now and then as the two of them talk as if they’ve been friends their whole lives. Forget the fact that my father just killed his son.

It’s like that never happened. Like they’re old friends, comrades. And he’s giving his daughter to me.

Hell, if I threatened to take her now, he’d probably allow it.

Maybe that’s what I should do. She obviously wants my help. What better way to help her than to get her out of this damned house?

I will not marry an eleven-year-old. It wouldn’t be legal anyway, even though I know it’s done. And of course I would never touch her. Even if it comes to the forced marriage when she’s eighteen, I still won’t touch her. But I plan to have taken the family down before then.

I’ll have to think of another way to get her out of here.

“I believe she’ll make a lovely wife for you, Vincent,” Grandfather says.

They both look to me.

Seriously? They want me to comment on what a good wife a little girl is going to make me?

What do I say without sounding horrific?

“I’m sure she will mature into a beautiful woman,” I say.

There, that kept the creep factor to a minimum. But it didn’t eliminate it altogether.

“She certainly will.” McAllister swirls his brandy around his glass.

“Tell me,” I say. “What are your plans for her musical talent? Where could that lead?”

“Nowhere, really,” McAllister says. “She’ll be marrying you when she turns eighteen. But I’m sure she’ll play for you whenever you’d like to hear it. Imagine, having your own concert pianist in your home.” He closes his eyes. “I will miss that. Hearing Belinda play is one of the most wonderful things in my life.”

“Don’t you feel she should have collegiate training? She could be something great,” I say.

“You could send her to a school nearby,” Grandfather says. “What you do for her once she’s your property is up to you.”

I cock my head at him. I really just heard that. He referred to a woman as property. That must be what he thought of my grandmother. What he thinks of my mother. What he thought of Savannah, and why he was willing to give her to Miles McAllister.

I feel sick.

The shepherd’s pie and ice cream are sitting in my stomach like a lump, and they could come traveling up at any moment.

For a brief time I regret coming back to the States.

But then I remember Savannah. What she would be going through if I hadn’t returned.

What my father would be going through.

No, this is my blood right. My legacy. And I plan to burn it to the ground.