Chapter 8 - THE THIRD WISH
Sunday evening brought a roaring blizzard that shut down the Long Island expressways.
At nine o'clock, Vincent walked down to the staff wing. He wore a heavy black tactical vest beneath a dark wool coat, his twin pistols holstered at his waist.
He pushed open the door to Clara’s room.
Clara was packing a small bag, her hands shaking slightly. She knew something was happening; the sudden influx of heavily armed Moretti guards patrolling the hallways had made that obvious. Ellie was sitting on the bed, clutching Barnaby the bear, holding her third gold coin tightly in her fist.
When Vincent walked in, Clara looked up, her face pale.
“Mr. Moretti,” Clara whispered. “Is... is it your brother?”
Vincent walked over, stopping in front of her. “There is going to be a conflict tonight, Clara. Bad men are coming to this house to take what is mine.”
Clara stepped closer to him, her hand instinctively reaching out to touch his arm. “Vincent... please be careful.”
It was the first time she had called him by his first name.
Vincent looked down at her hand on his arm, feeling a profound surge of protective instincts. “I have secured the vault beneath the wine cellar. Aldo will take you there now. You will stay inside until I personally come to open the door. Do not open it for anyone else. Not even my brother.”
Clara nodded urgently. “I understand.”
Vincent turned to the bed, crouching down beside Ellie. The little girl looked at his tactical gear, her dark eyes big and curious, but surprisingly un-afraid.
“You have your gear on,” Ellie noted, pointing at his vest. “Like a superhero?”
Vincent let out a soft, low breath. “Something like that, little one. It’s time for you and Mommy to go to a safe room for a little while.”
Ellie held up her third gold coin. The last coin.
“I want to make my third wish now,” Ellie declared softly.
Vincent paused, looking at the shiny novelty coin in her small palm. “Ellie, you can save it for tomorrow. You can ask for any toy in the world—”
“No,” Ellie insisted, pressing the gold coin into Vincent’s large, scarred hand. She reached out her tiny arms and wrapped them around his neck, hugging him tight.
“My third wish,” Ellie whispered into his ear, her voice sweet and pure, “is for you to come back down to open the door. I wish for you to be okay.”
Vincent froze.
In his dark life, people asked him for money, power, protection, and death. No one had ever used a wish simply to ask for his survival.
May you like
Vincent wrapped his thick arms around the tiny girl, holding her close against his tactical vest, tears stinging the corners of his dark eyes.
“Wish granted, Ellie,” Vincent choked out softly. “I promise you. I will open the door.”
