“What did you do?”
“Nothing.” My head shook as more tears filled my eyes.
“When I left, Dr. Katov said you were fine.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Sir, this happens,” the doctor said.
“The child,” Andros said, standing. “Save the child.” With a brief, dismissive glance, he walked away.
What was he saying?
He’s promised I could stay with my baby.
Before I could speak, Irina did.
“And the mother.” She smiled reassuringly as she laid another damp cloth upon my forehead. Though Andros was out of my range of vision, I knew her next sentence was meant for him. “A baby needs his mother.”
“His?” he questioned.
“We do not know,” she said sternly. “But we will soon. She’s closer every minute.”
“I am?” I asked. The pain wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been.
The sky was still bright, yet the clock on the stand read after eight at night. I’d been in labor for over sixteen hours and actively pushing for two when the decision was made that the baby must arrive. The tapping of the baby’s heartbeat coming from the monitor had slowed.
It went without saying that any previous or future course of action would be decided without my approval. Truly, I wasn’t thinking straight. The exhaustion was all-consuming. Though I wasn’t in a position to make my opinion known, I tried.
“Hospital?” I asked Irina.
“Shh, child, it will all be all right. Close your eyes.”
“Save my baby,” I pleaded. “If it’s me or my child, do what Andros said.” My eyelids grew heavy and my words formed slowly. It was difficult to make my lips and tongue cooperate. My last plea to the kind woman who looked after me came in a whisper. “Please take care of my baby.”
Patrick
Present day
Romero drove along the streets of Chicago, taking Sparrow and I from the tower in the sky to the mansion in Lincoln Park. The limestone monstrosity held the original command center of the Sparrow outfit—Allister Sparrow’s inner sanctum, his office within. The night Allister met his demise, Mason, Reid, Sparrow, and I began our search of everything related to the outfit.
Search.
Discover.
Remove.
Today, that same office was the shell of what it had been during Allister’s reign. At the time, Sparrow wanted it all, including the giant wood desk. That desk now sits in Sparrow’s office on the first floor of the penthouse. The reams of incriminating documents were scanned for us and destroyed so others wouldn’t learn their secrets. Within those scans were the answers we hoped to find.
“We’re five minutes away, Molly,” Sparrow said into his phone.
Molly was Genevieve Sparrow’s most trusted employee and longtime house manager. The woman deserved saint status for the years she put up with Sparrow’s mother.
“Inform my mother we’re arriving shortly.” His head shook. “Her schedule can make an exception for her son.” With that, Sparrow disconnected the call.
My lips curled upward. “Five-minute warning shot.”
Sparrow shrugged. “It’s written in stone that Genevieve Sparrow never leaves the house before 10:00 a.m. Waiting to announce my arrival at 9:55 mandates that she’ll be available to see me.”
I feigned shock. “Someone refuses an audience with Sterling Sparrow?”
“More like the other way. As much as I loathe the woman, she’s still my mother and has been at this longer than I have. She has first- and secondhand knowledge that would take us much longer to learn.”
My thoughts went to what Madeline had mentioned about her parents’ car crash. Could it be possible that Mrs. Sparrow had any knowledge of Allister’s conquests and attempts at ridding himself of unwanted heirs?
I worked to separate the man at my side from his father. I owed that to him. If I couldn’t separate Sparrow from Allister, Madeline would deserve the same. Neither did. The only thing either shared with that evil man was blood.
I focused on the surroundings: the tree-lined streets and freshly shoveled sidewalks. Above us was a clear sky. The unusually cloud-free winter morning’s sunlight reflected off the frost- covered fences and trees as if they’d been sprinkled with glitter. It was impossible from the street to have any notion of the decisions and depravity that went on in many of these homes over the years. Allister’s consigliere, Rudy Carlson, lived near the Sparrows. His wife, Martha, still resided there. Essentially her financial status was Sparrow’s gift to his mother—maintaining the status of her friend. The death of her husband near the time of Allister’s death was essential to our coup.
The Sparrow outfit had sat behind these mansion walls and sentenced women and children to death by exploitation. Yes, some like Madeline and Jana had survived, but the list of others who didn’t would never be complete.
Romero pulled the car up the driveway, coming to a stop before Mrs. Sparrow’s home.
Walking together, Sparrow and I stilled on the front step. Without knocking, the door opened from within. The woman in a maid’s uniform smiled. “Mr. Sparrow, Mr. Kelly, I’ll let Mrs. Sparrow know you’ve arrived. Please come in.”
“Thank you, Molly,” Sparrow said as we both stepped onto the marble floor of the foyer and the door was closed to the outside world. Without another word, Molly disappeared down a corridor to the left.
Everything about this mansion oozed regality, from the staircase before us that twisted with landings on the second and third floors, to the sitting room to our right and the lead-glass doors through which we’d just entered. Three stories above, a crystal chandelier shone. The marble entry was alive with rainbows dancing through prisms from both the sunlight through the doors and the chandelier above.
“This way, gentlemen,” Molly said as she reappeared, gesturing us down the corridor from which she’d just returned.
Through a parlor, dining room, and hallway we were led until we came to a stop at the entry to the atrium. Sitting at a small table with a dainty cup and saucer was Sterling’s mother. Dressed immaculately as if she’d been anticipating our visit, she turned our way. The overly sweet scent of her perfume grew stronger as we approached.
“Sterling, Mr. Kelly,” she said, feigning a smile.
It was no secret that Genevieve Sparrow was not a fan of her son’s inner circle. Perhaps it was that Allister’s men came from at least the perception of money. Reid, Mason, and I were—in her eyes—leeches her son had acquired while in the army. Perhaps she blamed her husband’s demise on our influence. If she did, it proved she knew very little about her own son.
Sterling Sparrow sought advice from the three of us, but decisions were his and his alone.
Mrs. Sparrow gestured to two other chairs at the table. “Please, have a seat.”
My gaze went momentarily to Sparrow, wondering if the delicate chairs would hold our weight. It wasn’t that either of us was heavy. It was that the chairs with their frail frames and woven cane seats looked like they were designed in another time for smaller people.
“Gentlemen,” Molly said, “may I bring you something to eat or drink?”