Chapter 1 - THE MAN WHO ALWAYS FOUND HER
Roman DeLuca did not speak when Sophie threw herself into his arms.
For several seconds, the most feared man in New York simply held his daughter.
Rainwater dripped from his black overcoat onto the bakery floor. His men spread through the room with military precision, blocking exits, checking windows, speaking quietly into earpieces.
But Roman seemed unaware of any of them.
He pressed one hand against the back of Sophie’s head and closed his eyes.
Emma Brooks had never seen terror disappear from a man’s face so quickly.
Nor had she ever seen love replace it so completely.
Sophie pulled back first.
Her hands moved.
You took too long.
Roman immediately answered in American Sign Language.
I know.
You promised you would always find me.
I did find you.
Eventually.
A tiny crease appeared between Sophie’s eyebrows.
Emma almost smiled.
Even after whatever nightmare the child had survived, she apparently had no hesitation about scolding the man half the city feared.
Roman touched Sophie’s cheek.
Are you hurt?
No.
Did anyone touch you?
Sophie shook her head.
Mr. Harris put me in the bakery. Mr. Cole stayed with the car.
Roman’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Emma saw it.
“What happened to Mr. Cole?” she asked before thinking.
Every armed man in the bakery turned toward her.
The manager behind the counter visibly paled.
Roman slowly stood.
He was tall—well over six feet—and carried power differently than rich businessmen Emma sometimes served at corporate breakfasts. Those men announced status with watches, cuff links, and loud voices.
Roman did not need to announce anything.
The room rearranged itself around him.
His dark hair was wet from the rain, his jaw shadowed, his charcoal suit immaculate beneath the overcoat.
His eyes settled on Emma.
Noticing.
Measuring.
“Who are you?”
Sophie stepped between them.
Emma.
Roman looked at his daughter.
Sophie signed rapidly.
She speaks my language. Everyone else thought I was waving my hands. She knew I was scared.
Roman’s gaze returned to Emma.
Something shifted behind his eyes.
“Emma Brooks,” she said. “Night baker. Occasional cashier. Apparently melted-mud distributor.”
Sophie smiled.
Roman did not.
But one of the security men behind him appeared to bite the inside of his cheek.
Roman glanced toward the untouched hot chocolate.
“You were with her?”
“For maybe twenty minutes.”
“She told you what happened?”
“Not much. She said two security men brought her here after a crash.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Anything else?”
Emma hesitated.
Sophie watched her.
“She said her father always finds her.”
Something vulnerable flashed through Roman’s face before disappearing.
He crouched again and signed to Sophie.
We are going home.
Sophie immediately shook her head.
Emma comes.
Roman blinked.
Emma almost laughed.
“No, sweetheart. I have a shift.”
Sophie frowned.
Then she signed.
They found us once.
The bakery suddenly seemed much colder.
Roman’s attention sharpened.
“What does she mean?”
Emma signed directly to Sophie.
Who found you?
Sophie’s small hands slowed.
The men in the gray car.
Roman went perfectly still.
“What gray car?”
Sophie looked confused.
Roman knelt.
Show me.
She signed.
Before the crash, a gray car followed us. Mr. Cole said it was nothing. Then another car hit us. Mr. Harris took me out. He said we had to run because men were coming.
“Jesus,” murmured one of Roman’s guards.
Roman turned.
“Marco.”
A broad man near the door stepped forward.
“Boss.”
“Find Cole. Find Harris. Find the vehicles.”
“We’re already on it.”
Roman’s voice dropped.
“No. You were already looking for my daughter.”
Marco’s face hardened.
“Now find out who tried to take her.”
“Yes, boss.”
Roman looked back at Sophie.
Emma recognized the expression.
A parent forcing himself not to show fear.
She had seen it on mothers bringing children into the bakery after hospital appointments. On fathers buying birthday cakes they could barely afford.
Money did not protect anyone from fear.
Sometimes it simply gave fear better clothing.
Roman signed.
Did you see their faces?
Sophie shook her head.
One had a red bird on his hand.
Roman froze.
Marco heard Emma’s quiet translation.
His head snapped toward Roman.
“Red bird?”
Roman’s face emptied.
Emma did not know what it meant.
But everyone else clearly did.
“Get her out of here,” Roman ordered.
His men moved instantly.
Two headed outside.
Another approached Sophie.
Sophie grabbed Emma’s hand.
“No.”
Roman looked at their joined hands.
“Sophie.”
She shook her head violently.
Emma tried to gently release her.
“It’s okay. Your dad’s here.”
Sophie gripped harder.
Please.
One word.
Emma’s heart folded.
Roman saw it happen.
“I can bring you home,” Emma said.
“No.”
Roman’s answer was immediate.
She looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You are not getting into your car.”
Emma crossed her arms.
“I wasn’t asking permission.”
“And I wasn’t giving advice.”
The bakery manager made a small choking sound behind the counter.
Emma stared at Roman.
Perhaps most people backed down when Roman DeLuca used that tone.
Emma had spent seventeen years working customer service.
She had survived drunk tourists, entitled brides, predawn delivery drivers, and a woman who once threw an entire lemon tart because the yellow was “emotionally aggressive.”
Roman DeLuca did not frighten her nearly as much as he clearly expected.
“My apartment is twelve minutes away.”
“You’re coming with us.”
“No.”
Sophie tugged Emma’s sleeve.
Roman’s mouth tightened.
“You were seen with my daughter.”
“So?”
“So if someone attempted to abduct her tonight, anyone who helped her becomes relevant.”
Emma looked toward the windows.
Eight black SUVs.
Armed men.
Rain.
Police sirens somewhere far away.
The normal world felt suddenly distant.
“Are you saying I’m in danger?”
“I’m saying I don’t know.”
“That sounds suspiciously like danger.”
“It usually is.”
Emma exhaled.
“My cat needs feeding.”
Roman stared at her.
“My cat,” Emma repeated. “His name is Biscotti. He becomes vindictive after six hours.”
Marco coughed.
Roman slowly looked at him.
“Nothing,” Marco said.
Emma almost smiled.
Roman removed his phone.
“Address.”
“You’re sending armed men to feed my cat?”
“I am sending someone to your apartment to retrieve anything you require.”
“That sounds much more alarming.”
“It is also not optional.”
Emma’s eyebrows rose.
Roman stepped closer.
“Someone came after my seven-year-old daughter tonight. Two trained security officers disappeared during the attack. One may already be dead. My daughter survived because she reached a public place and because you noticed what no one else did.”
His voice lowered.
“If the people responsible saw you with her, I will not gamble with your life to preserve your sense of independence.”
Emma studied him.
There was arrogance there.
Control.
Command.
But underneath it was something else.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For Sophie.
She looked down.
The child was still holding her hand.
“Fine,” Emma said.
Roman nodded once.
“But I have conditions.”
Marco definitely coughed this time.
Roman stared at her.
“Conditions?”
“Yes. Biscotti gets the expensive wet food from the top cabinet. Not the dry stuff.”
Roman’s face remained unreadable.
“And?”
“My manager pays me for the full shift.”
The manager instantly said, “Absolutely.”
“And nobody points a gun at me.”
Roman glanced around the bakery.
Every guard immediately lowered his weapon.
Emma blinked.
“Okay,” she muttered. “That was unsettlingly efficient.”
Sophie laughed silently.
Roman looked down at his daughter.
For the first time, Emma saw the faintest hint of amusement touch his mouth.
It disappeared immediately.
Five minutes later, Emma sat inside an armored SUV worth more than her apartment building.
Sophie pressed against her side.
Roman sat opposite them.
Nobody spoke as the convoy pulled through Manhattan.
Sophie signed.
Papa is angry.
Emma glanced at Roman.
“He looks thrilled.”
Sophie covered her mouth, laughing.
Roman’s eyebrow lifted.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I can see both of you.”
Emma looked out the window.
“You could always learn sign language.”
“I know sign language.”
“Then you already know what she said.”
“I want to know what you said.”
Emma smiled sweetly.
“Classified.”
Roman stared at her.
Sophie leaned against Emma’s shoulder.
Minutes passed.
The adrenaline faded.
The little girl’s eyes became heavy.
Eventually she fell asleep.
Emma shifted carefully so Sophie’s head rested more comfortably against her.
Roman watched.
His gaze moved from Sophie to Emma.
“You’re good with her.”
“She’s easy to like.”
“No. She isn’t.”
Emma frowned.
“That’s a terrible thing to say about your daughter.”
Roman looked toward the window.
“She stopped trusting strangers after her mother died.”
Emma’s irritation softened.
“How long ago?”
“Three years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Silence.
Then Roman asked, “Where did you learn ASL?”
“My mother.”
“Deaf?”
Emma nodded.
“Born deaf. She raised three noisy hearing children who were forced to learn sign before we were allowed to complain about chores.”
Roman’s mouth almost moved again.
“She sounds formidable.”
“She is. Seventy-one and still believes guilt is a valid parenting method.”
Sophie shifted.
Roman reached forward instinctively but stopped before touching her.
Emma noticed.
“You can sit beside her.”
His eyes met hers.
“She’s comfortable.”
“She’s your daughter.”
He hesitated.
Then moved across the SUV.
Sophie woke just enough to sense him and immediately curled against his chest.
Roman froze.
Then his arm wrapped around her.
Emma looked away to give them privacy.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She frowned.
The message contained a photograph.
Her bakery.
Taken from across the street less than ten minutes earlier.
Below it were five words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED OUT.
Emma stopped breathing.
Roman saw her face.
“What?”
She turned the phone around.
The air changed.
Roman took it.
His eyes became terrifyingly calm.
Marco looked back from the front seat.
“Boss?”
Roman handed him the phone.
“Trace it.”
Marco stared at the message.
“Damn.”
Sophie slept against Roman, unaware.
Emma felt cold spread through her chest.
“Maybe it’s just—”
“It isn’t.”
Roman’s voice had lost every trace of softness.
“Someone saw you.”
Emma swallowed.
Roman looked directly at her.
“For now, you stay with me.”
“That message doesn’t give you custody of me.”
“No.”
He leaned closer.
“But until I know who sent it, my home is the safest place in New York.”
Emma tried to joke.
“Your home sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
“And your personality?”
“Worse.”
For some reason, that almost made her smile.
Then the SUV turned through enormous iron gates.
Beyond them stood a mansion overlooking the Hudson, every window illuminated, armed guards stationed beneath the trees.
Emma stared.
“What exactly do you do for a living?”
Roman looked at her.
“Things you’re better off not asking about.”
“That reassuring?”
“No.”
The convoy stopped.
Roman lifted Sophie into his arms.
As he stepped from the SUV, Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then his face changed.
“Boss.”
Roman turned.
“They found Cole.”
“Alive?”
Marco hesitated.
“Yes.”
Roman’s shoulders loosened slightly.
“And Harris?”
“No sign of him.”
“Where was Cole?”
Marco looked toward Emma before answering.
“Inside the wreck.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
Marco continued.
“He woke up long enough to say one thing.”
“What?”
“They didn’t want money.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
Marco swallowed.
“They wanted Sophie alive.”
Emma looked at the sleeping little girl.
Roman’s arm tightened around his daughter.
Then Marco delivered the part that made every guard around them go silent.
“Cole says whoever planned this had access to the private security route.”
Roman’s face became stone.
Emma understood without knowing anything about his world.
The enemy had not been waiting outside the gates.
The enemy had known exactly when Sophie would leave.
May you like
Which meant whoever wanted Roman DeLuca’s daughter—
was already inside his life.
