Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN THEY SHOULD NOT HAVE TOUCHED
Emma forgot how to breathe.
“My mother?”
Antonio held the phone toward her.
A second image appeared.
A small suburban house in Queens.
Emma knew the blue porch.
The ceramic flowerpots.
The crooked mailbox her brother had promised to replace for three years.
Her mother’s house.
A red bird had been painted across the front door.
Emma grabbed the phone.
“Call her.”
Roman already had his own phone out.
“Marco.”
“On it.”
“No. Send a team.”
“They’ll be there in twelve.”
“Make it six.”
Emma dialed.
Her mother’s phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Come on, Mom.”
Four.
Then—
“Emma?”
Emma nearly collapsed.
“Mom.”
“You sound strange.”
“Are you home?”
“Of course I’m home. It is barely morning. Some of us have civilized schedules.”
Emma closed her eyes.
“Lock the doors.”
“What?”
“Lock everything.”
Roman held out his hand.
Emma ignored him.
Her mother continued.
“Emma, what happened?”
“Nothing. Just—please.”
A knock sounded through the phone.
Emma froze.
Her mother said, “Someone’s at the door.”
“Do not answer it.”
“Emma—”
“Mom!”
Roman took the phone.
“Mrs. Brooks.”
Emma stared at him.
Her mother went silent.
Roman spoke clearly.
“My name is Roman DeLuca. Your daughter helped my child tonight. Because of that, someone may attempt to frighten you.”
Emma could only imagine her mother’s expression.
“Is my daughter in danger?”
Roman looked at Emma.
“Yes.”
Emma’s heart clenched.
No lie.
No comforting nonsense.
Just truth.
Roman continued.
“But I will not allow anyone to hurt either of you.”
Her mother’s voice hardened.
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
“You also sound expensive.”
Emma covered her face.
Roman actually blinked.
Her mother continued.
“Are you married?”
“Mom!”
Roman stared at Emma.
Antonio turned away, shoulders shaking.
Marco appeared fascinated by the ceiling.
Roman answered.
“No.”
“Pity.”
“Mother!”
“Emma, if someone is trying to kill me, I am allowed curiosity.”
Roman looked like a man who had survived gunfire but had never prepared for this.
The knock sounded again.
Roman’s expression changed instantly.
“Mrs. Brooks, move away from the door.”
A man’s voice came faintly through the phone.
“DeLuca security!”
Roman relaxed slightly.
“Ask for the phrase ‘Sunday bread.’”
Emma stared.
“What?”
“Verification code.”
Her mother repeated through the door.
“What’s the phrase?”
A voice answered.
“Sunday bread.”
Roman nodded.
“Open it.”
Emma exhaled.
Her mother did.
Roman’s security team swept the house.
Nobody inside.
No explosives.
No attackers.
Only the painted bird.
And a white envelope placed beneath the doormat.
The men opened it remotely.
Inside was a photograph.
Roman.
Elena.
Sophie.
Taken three days before Elena’s fatal crash.
On the back:
THE MOTHER FAILED.
THE BAKER WILL TOO.
Roman stared at it.
Emma felt something change inside her.
Fear remained.
But beneath it came anger.
Slow and hot.
“Whoever did this thinks I’m going to run.”
Roman looked at her.
“You should.”
Emma turned.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m moving your mother to a secure property.”
“That I agree with.”
“And you.”
“That I don’t.”
“You are staying here.”
“For how long?”
“Until this ends.”
“And when does it end?”
“When my father is dead.”
Silence.
Emma stared.
Roman did not blink.
She lowered her voice.
“You say things like that very casually.”
“I’m not casual.”
“This is exactly why normal people don’t date men like you.”
Marco abruptly walked out.
Antonio followed, clearly enjoying himself.
Roman looked at Emma.
“Are we discussing dating?”
“No.”
“You brought it up.”
“I brought it up as an example.”
“Interesting example.”
Emma stared.
“You are impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Probably by women running toward airports.”
“Mostly by judges.”
Despite herself, Emma laughed.
Roman looked at her.
Really looked.
The moment stretched.
Then Sophie entered holding Rosa’s hand.
Emma immediately knelt.
“Hey.”
Sophie signed.
Grandma Emma safe?
Emma smiled.
“My mother is safe.”
Roman signed.
She’ll stay somewhere protected.
Sophie nodded.
Then looked at Emma.
You stay too?
Emma hesitated.
Roman watched.
She signed.
For now.
Sophie smiled.
Roman’s expression softened.
Later that morning, Emma’s mother arrived with two suitcases, a knitting bag, and Biscotti.
The orange cat immediately hissed at Roman.
Emma pointed.
“Excellent instincts.”
Roman looked insulted.
Her mother, Diane Brooks, entered behind the guards.
She was small, silver-haired, deaf, and entirely unimpressed by armed security.
Roman greeted her in ASL.
Diane’s eyebrows rose.
Your signing is good.
Thank you.
Your face is too serious.
Roman froze.
Emma nearly choked laughing.
Diane hugged her daughter tightly.
Then pulled back.
Are you hurt?
No.
Scared?
Yes.
Good. Fear means your brain works.
Emma smiled.
Her mother touched her cheek.
Then looked at Roman.
He stood several feet away, giving them space.
Diane signed to Emma.
He is handsome.
Mother.
Also dangerous.
Yes.
Very handsome.
Emma closed her eyes.
Across the room Roman asked aloud, “Should I pretend I didn’t understand that?”
Emma wanted the floor to swallow her.
Diane grinned.
Absolutely not.
For the first time since the nightmare began, Roman laughed.
Not a brief exhale.
A real laugh.
Sophie heard none of it.
But she saw his face.
Her eyes widened.
Then she began laughing too.
Everyone joined.
Even Marco.
For thirty seconds, the mansion forgot death.
And Emma thought maybe that was why dangerous men feared kindness.
Because it created something they could lose.
Over the next three days, Emma remained at the estate.
Roman’s men investigated.
Luca Ferretti survived the gunshot to his leg and refused to speak.
Antonio provided fragments of information.
Vittorio DeLuca remained somewhere overseas.
And the Red Cardinals continued sending warnings.
But no attack came.
The silence became worse.
Emma helped Sophie return to routine.
Breakfast.
Lessons.
Art.
Swimming.
Roman insisted Sophie remain inside.
By day two she was climbing furniture from boredom.
Emma found Roman in his office.
“She needs air.”
“No.”
“She’s seven.”
“No.”
“You can’t keep her indoors forever.”
“Yes, I can.”
Emma folded her arms.
Roman looked up from documents.
“That expression does not work on me.”
“What expression?”
“The one suggesting I’m an idiot.”
“That is just my face.”
He leaned back.
“Emma.”
“Roman.”
“My daughter was almost kidnapped.”
“I was there.”
“They infiltrated this house.”
“I was also there.”
“And your solution is a picnic?”
“Yes.”
He stared.
“The courtyard has walls, cameras, and approximately four hundred men.”
“Twenty-six.”
“Still deeply unhealthy.”
Roman rubbed his forehead.
Emma stepped closer.
“She needs to feel like a child again.”
His expression softened.
“That’s not possible.”
“Then give her twenty minutes.”
Roman looked toward the garden.
Finally:
“Ten.”
“Thirty.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty-five.”
“Twenty.”
“Done.”
Roman blinked.
Emma smiled.
“You’re bad at negotiations.”
“I will remember that.”
The picnic happened.
Sophie spread a blanket beneath an enormous oak tree.
Diane brought sandwiches.
Rosa brought lemonade.
Biscotti escaped twice.
Roman stood ten feet away speaking with Marco while pretending not to watch Sophie constantly.
Emma noticed.
She also noticed when he finally removed his jacket.
When Sophie threw a grape at him.
When it hit his shoulder.
Roman looked down.
Sophie froze.
Then Emma threw another grape.
It struck Roman’s chest.
His head turned slowly.
Emma smiled.
“Oh no.”
Roman picked up a grape.
“Don’t.”
He threw it.
Emma ducked.
Sophie laughed.
Within seconds, the most feared man in New York was involved in a grape war with a baker and his deaf daughter.
Marco wisely disappeared.
Roman cornered Emma near the oak.
She held both hands up.
“Truce.”
“You started this.”
“Sophie started it.”
Sophie, safely across the lawn, denied everything.
Roman came closer.
Emma’s back touched the tree.
His smile faded.
Their eyes met.
Too close.
She became aware of everything.
His breathing.
Her heartbeat.
His hand near her waist.
A loose strand of hair against his forehead.
Roman looked at her mouth.
Emma stopped smiling.
He leaned closer.
Then Sophie threw another grape.
It struck Roman in the ear.
Emma burst out laughing.
Roman closed his eyes.
“Your daughter saved you,” she whispered.
“My daughter has terrible timing.”
Emma looked up at him.
“Saved you from what?”
Roman opened his eyes.
Before he could answer—
A gunshot cracked.
Roman moved instantly.
He slammed Emma to the ground and covered her body with his.
Guards rushed toward Sophie.
Another shot.
The picnic table exploded in splinters.
Roman pulled a pistol.
“Inside!”
Marco grabbed Sophie.
Emma rolled.
Something glinted on the hill beyond the estate wall.
A rifle scope.
“Roman!”
He turned.
Emma pointed.
Roman fired twice toward the trees.
Guards returned fire.
Then silence.
Roman grabbed Emma.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Sophie!”
“I have her!” Marco shouted.
Sophie was crying.
Emma ran toward her.
Roman caught her waist.
“Stay down!”
“Sophie needs to see me.”
He hesitated.
Then released her.
Emma crawled to Sophie.
The child wrapped herself around Emma.
Roman stood over them, weapon drawn.
Marco spoke into his radio.
“Shooter retreating west!”
Roman looked toward the hill.
His face became murderous.
Then Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Roman.”
“What?”
“Perimeter team caught someone.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Marco stared.
“Not a Cardinal.”
Roman waited.
Marco swallowed.
“It’s Bianca Ferraro.”
Roman froze.
Emma looked up.
“Who’s Bianca Ferraro?”
Nobody answered.
Then Sophie signed.
Papa’s almost-wife.
Emma’s heart did something stupid.
Something painful.
Roman saw.
May you like
And for the first time since Emma met him—
he looked afraid of explaining himself.
