“Does it really matter? I’m not presenting you with a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. That ship sailed,” she said defensively.
“You’re saying it’s too late. If you’re telling me the truth and I have a daughter, it’s not too late.”
Madeline nodded. “I am telling you the truth. The last I spoke with her, she was well and happy. That was before I left for Chicago, but Patrick, this isn’t like I’m telling you I’m pregnant. She’s sixteen. She doesn’t know you—”
“Doesn’t know me,” I interrupted. “How the fuck would she? She doesn’t know me because you never gave me a chance.”
“I-I didn’t want to tell you. I-I couldn’t. I always feared what Andros would do if he found out who her father was, how he would use it against me and her.” Madeline’s head shook. “Please, I have to get to her.”
“To her...to my daughter.”
“To my daughter,” Madeline corrected. “I have sacrificed...” She took a step back. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t know you were here in Chicago or anywhere. Hell, I didn’t know until Thursday that you were still alive. Once I did, once I saw you again, I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”
“Fucking obligated.” My volume rose. “I am obligated. I was obligated seventeen years ago when you left me.”
Her neck straightened. “This is not going to be settled here. As I said, I’ll leave.”
“And do what?”
“I’ll do what I’ve always done, beg for his forgiveness.”
The small hairs on my neck stood to attention. “Is this some game the two of you play?”
“No, Patrick, it’s not a game. Nothing with Andros is a game. This is my life. It’s my daughter’s life. And for her, I’ll do it. I’ll take whatever penitence he deems sufficient for losing his money. I’ll offer him anything and everything to be back with her.”
What the hell was she even saying?
“Do you think he’ll hurt—” It was at that moment I realized something fucking obvious. I didn’t know my own daughter’s name. “What’s her name?”
“Ruby,” Madeline said as more tears glistened in her eyes. “She’s beautiful and intelligent. She’s talented. She’s also kind and naïve. I named her Ruby after the precious gem that is her birthstone and because the name reminded me of the color of apples.”
Her answer twisted the knife in my gut. “Her last name?”
“Miller. I can explain that later. First, I need to get to her or get her to me.”
“You said you know Ivanov,” I said, not wanting to know the closeness of their relationship. “Is he a threat to Ruby? Does he know where she is?”
She swallowed. “He knows where she is. I want to say he wouldn’t do what he insinuated, but because I do know him, I can’t answer that for sure.” Her head shook as she stood taller. “Ruby thinks of him as a...” She hesitated.
“Father,” I said.
“Not fully. She knows he isn’t. Maybe she considers him an uncle or surrogate.”
Her words made me bristle. I was her father.
Madeline reached out. “Ruby doesn’t think of him as...” More tears came to her eyes. “If he acted upon what he just insinuated...He can’t mean what he said. I have to get back to her.” More sobs bubbled from her throat. “My God, she’s only sixteen. She doesn’t know...I’ve done my best to shelter her. All I want is to hold her and tell her she’s safe.”
That was exactly what I wanted as I imagined images of Madeline at that same age.
Did Ruby look like her mother or did she look like me?
As I was about to ask more, the room shook. The reverberating blast of a gunshot rang out, rattling the walls and light fixtures and pulling me back to reality.
Patrick
The windows rattled as a gunshot blast echoed within the walls of the poker hall.
Without hesitation I reached for the gun beneath my jacket. With the other hand, I pulled Madeline behind me and spun toward the door.
Suddenly, my mind wasn’t on an infant, a child, or even a teenager. Instead, I was seeing the room around me, scanning the few remaining faces.
Terror showed in the eyes of the few remaining bystanders as they crouched to the ground. The other Sparrows had duty in their gaze, their guns drawn and backs against the wall.
Sparrow?
Where the fuck was Sparrow?
While Madeline and I’d been talking, he and Mason must have left the room. That was also the direction the shot had come from.
“Patrick?” Madeline said, her voice again quaking. “What’s happening?”
I pulled her to the side wall near the windows and glanced down at the street. The red awning obstructed my view as a string of cars waited to pick up their waiting passengers. “Stay here.”
With my heart beating at untold speed, I lifted my gun and nodded toward the other Sparrows. We stepped in the direction of the open doors. My eyes immediately met Mason’s green gaze. His neck was taut, cords coming to life as he barked orders.
On the floor near his feet lay a man I recognized as one of our own. His name was Mattis. By the appearance of things, he was very much alive and in considerable pain. The cause wasn’t only from the way the heel of Mason’s boot pushed down on his lower back, but from the blood seeping from his right hand onto the floor.
I stepped out farther, my gun still drawn, and surveyed those present. In the last few minutes, the sheer number of people had dwindled. It now appeared we were surrounded by mostly familiar faces.
“There are some people in there,” I said, “who need to be escorted out. We want only Sparrows here.”
A quick turn to my left and I saw who I’d been seeking. The visual confirmation allowed me to release a relieved breath as I holstered my gun. Sparrow was alive and unharmed. In all his regality he stood near the wall, talking to Garrett, the epitome of control and power, appearing impervious to whatever had happened.
From the banister I peered a story below, into the club’s entry, where Sparrow capos were clearing the rooms. The restaurant, cigar room, and bar were all officially closed by order of Sterling Sparrow. Mutterings of discontent made their way to us, yet it appeared that the exodus was progressing smoothly.
“Ivanov?” I asked, stepping closer to Sparrow.
“He, Hillman, and their men have driven away.”
I thought about Madeline’s plea. “We could stop them before they board their planes.”
Sparrow’s head shook. “I told you to deal with her. You realize that no matter what she’s said, she’s a plant, a trap.”
She could be.
I hadn’t thought of that.
I didn’t want to think of that.
“Tell me,” he said, “what you said about her being your wife, is it true?”
“Seventeen years ago. The marriage is still valid.”
“What about what she said about a child?” he asked. “If it exists, could it possibly be yours?”
It.
Ruby was a she, not an it.