Chapter 7 - NO MORE RUNNING
Roman wanted Emma moved before sunset.
Not to another bedroom.
Not to another wing.
Out of New York.
“No.”
They stood inside his office.
Roman’s expression hardened.
“This is not negotiable.”
“Everything is negotiable.”
“Not your life.”
“My life is the one thing you absolutely do not get to negotiate without me.”
Roman looked as if patience had become physically painful.
“Bianca has access to trained gunmen.”
“So do you.”
“She wants you dead.”
“She’ll have to stand in line.”
“Emma.”
“What?”
He slammed one palm against the desk.
“I am trying to keep you alive!”
The room went silent.
Emma stared.
Roman closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, his anger had become fear.
“I buried one woman I loved.”
The words struck harder than shouting.
Emma’s breath caught.
Roman continued.
“I will not bury another.”
There it was.
Not perhaps.
Not could.
Loved.
Emma’s chest tightened.
“You don’t get to say that and then put me on an airplane.”
“I absolutely do.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“If I leave, does Bianca stop?”
“No.”
“Does your father stop?”
“No.”
“Does Sophie become safe?”
Roman said nothing.
Emma stepped closer.
“Then I’m staying.”
“You are not trained for this.”
“I hit a man with a fireplace poker.”
“That is not training.”
“It worked.”
Against all reason, Roman laughed.
Then immediately looked angry at himself for laughing.
Emma softened.
“I’m scared too.”
Roman’s eyes met hers.
“But running doesn’t make this disappear.”
“No.”
“So stop trying to send me away because you’re afraid.”
Roman looked toward the window.
“Elena told me the same thing once.”
Emma swallowed.
“And?”
“I ignored her.”
“Maybe learn.”
Roman turned.
“I hate when you’re right.”
“You must hate me frequently.”
“Constantly.”
Emma smiled.
Roman came closer.
He touched her cheek.
“I meant what I said.”
Emma’s smile faded.
“What part?”
“You know.”
She did.
But she wanted to hear it again.
Roman seemed to understand.
“I love you.”
Four words.
Spoken quietly.
No dramatic music.
No kneeling.
No promises.
Just truth.
Emma’s eyes filled.
“This is a terrible time.”
“I have historically poor timing.”
“You’ve known me four days.”
“Five.”
“That does not improve your argument.”
Roman smiled.
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“I spent years caring about what made sense.”
His thumb brushed her cheek.
“None of the best things in my life made sense.”
Emma’s tears slipped free.
“I’m still angry at you.”
“I know.”
“I’m not saying it back yet.”
“I know.”
“I might never.”
Roman’s expression remained calm.
“That would be inconvenient.”
She laughed through tears.
Then kissed him.
Hard.
Roman pulled her closer.
When they separated, he rested his forehead against hers.
“Stay near me.”
“I can do that.”
“Do not leave the estate.”
“That depends.”
“Emma.”
“I’ll try.”
He groaned.
Three hours later, Emma left the estate.
Technically.
She did not consider going forty feet beyond the rear gates to retrieve Biscotti from a guard who had accidentally let the cat escape to be “leaving.”
Roman disagreed.
Loudly.
“This is why instructions exist!”
Emma held Biscotti against her chest.
“He was chasing a squirrel.”
“You were outside the perimeter.”
“Barely.”
Marco stood nearby attempting to become invisible.
Roman pointed.
“There was a sniper here yesterday.”
“And today there was a cat.”
Roman stared.
Emma stared back.
Biscotti sneezed.
Marco walked away.
Roman took the cat from her.
“You are going inside.”
“You’re carrying Biscotti wrong.”
“I am carrying him exactly how he deserves.”
The cat hissed.
Roman hissed back.
Emma burst out laughing.
Sophie appeared on the terrace and watched her father argue with a cat.
Her hands flew.
Papa lost.
Emma signed.
Obviously.
Roman understood both.
“I live with traitors.”
The moment was so ordinary it hurt.
Because Emma suddenly wanted more ordinary moments.
Breakfasts.
Grape fights.
Sophie rolling her eyes.
Roman pretending not to enjoy cinnamon toast.
She wanted a future.
Which made the danger unbearable.
That night Antonio joined them for dinner.
The brothers had spent hours examining Elena’s evidence.
Their father’s trafficking operation had spread across three countries.
Roman had unknowingly provided infrastructure.
He looked haunted by that fact.
Emma listened as Antonio explained.
“Vittorio will move now.”
Roman nodded.
“He knows we have proof.”
“He’ll destroy witnesses.”
“Then we move first.”
Emma put down her fork.
“What does that mean?”
Roman looked at Sophie.
“Federal authorities.”
Antonio nearly dropped his glass.
“You’re going to the FBI?”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
Emma stared.
“You?”
“I have evidence of crimes I will not protect.”
Antonio leaned forward.
“You understand what cooperation means?”
“Yes.”
“Your own operations get examined.”
“Yes.”
“You could lose everything.”
Roman looked toward Sophie.
“No.”
He took her hand.
“Not everything.”
Emma felt something inside her shift.
This was not absolution.
Roman had done terrible things.
He did not pretend otherwise.
But perhaps redemption was not becoming innocent.
Perhaps it was choosing what you were willing to lose to stop becoming worse.
The next morning Roman arranged a meeting with federal agents through an attorney.
Location confidential.
Only six people knew.
Roman.
Marco.
Antonio.
The attorney.
The lead agent.
And Emma.
Sophie would remain at the estate with Rosa and Diane.
Emma hated leaving her.
Sophie hated it more.
You come back?
Emma crouched.
“Yes.”
Promise?
Emma hesitated.
Promises had consequences.
She touched Sophie’s cheek.
I will do everything I can.
Sophie nodded.
Then Roman signed:
I promise.
Emma looked at him.
He believed it.
That frightened her.
The convoy departed at noon.
Halfway into Manhattan, Roman’s phone rang.
Marco answered from the lead vehicle.
His voice came through the radio.
“Route compromised.”
Roman’s head snapped up.
“How?”
“Police barricade ahead wasn’t scheduled.”
Roman looked at the driver.
“Turn.”
The SUV moved toward a side street.
Then a truck pulled across the intersection behind them.
Emma’s pulse jumped.
Roman reached beneath his jacket.
“Down.”
Gunfire erupted.
Windows cracked but held.
The driver accelerated.
Another vehicle rammed them.
Emma screamed.
Roman grabbed her.
The SUV spun.
Airbags exploded.
Everything became white.
Then stillness.
Emma’s ears rang.
Roman’s hand found hers.
“Emma.”
“I’m okay.”
“Driver?”
“Alive,” the man groaned.
Roman looked outside.
Men approached.
Red bird tattoos.
“Cardinals.”
Roman pulled Emma down.
“Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
“To keep them away.”
“Roman—”
He kissed her.
Quick.
Desperate.
Then opened the door and fired.
Gunshots exploded outside.
Emma crouched behind the seat.
Her phone buzzed.
Sophie.
Video call.
Emma’s heart stopped.
Why would Sophie call now?
She answered.
The screen showed darkness.
Then Sophie’s face appeared.
Terrified.
Her hands moved.
Men inside house.
Emma stopped breathing.
“What?”
Sophie signed rapidly.
Rosa hurt. Grandma hiding. Bad men came from tunnel.
Emma’s blood froze.
The convoy attack was a distraction.
Roman’s father never wanted Roman.
He wanted Sophie.
Emma opened the door.
Roman turned.
“What are you doing?”
“They’re at the house.”
His face emptied.
“What?”
“Sophie called me.”
Roman ran toward her.
Emma showed the screen.
Sophie signed.
Papa come.
Roman grabbed his radio.
“Marco!”
Static.
Then Marco answered.
“Boss!”
“Estate breach!”
Silence.
Then a curse.
“I’m turning back.”
Roman jumped into the damaged SUV.
“Drive.”
Emma climbed in.
“No.”
Roman turned.
“You stay with Antonio.”
“She called me.”
“I don’t care.”
“She needs someone who can communicate with her if the phones die.”
“Emma—”
“She needs me.”
Roman’s face twisted.
Then he cursed.
“Drive!”
They raced back toward the estate.
The trip took nineteen minutes.
It felt like nineteen years.
Smoke rose above the eastern wing.
Guards fought near the gate.
Roman exited before the SUV fully stopped.
Emma followed.
He grabbed her.
“No.”
“Sophie!”
“I get her.”
“She might not understand anyone else.”
Roman stared.
He knew she was right.
He hated it.
“Stay behind me.”
They entered through the kitchen.
Broken glass.
Smoke.
A wounded guard.
Emma’s heart hammered.
“Sophie!”
No answer.
Of course.
“She can’t hear you,” Emma said.
Roman closed his eyes in frustration.
They reached the hidden passage.
The safe-room door stood open.
Empty.
Roman went pale.
“No.”
Emma searched.
A stuffed rabbit lay on the floor.
She picked it up.
Something had been placed inside its zipper.
A note.
Roman opened it.
One sentence.
BRING ELENA’S EVIDENCE TO PIER 19.
Roman’s face hardened.
Emma looked at him.
“They took her.”
“No.”
He stared toward the broken safe room.
“They think they did.”
Emma frowned.
Then noticed something.
A tiny handprint in flour on the floor.
Flour?
There was no flour here.
Unless Sophie had intentionally used the emergency baking kit Emma kept in the safe room.
Emma looked down the hall.
Another white handprint.
Then another.
Roman saw.
“She left a trail.”
Emma’s chest filled with pride.
“Smart girl.”
They followed.
Down one corridor.
Through the laundry room.
Into an old service tunnel beneath the mansion.
White marks continued.
Then stopped at a fork.
Roman cursed.
Emma looked around.
On one wall Sophie had drawn a symbol in flour.
A rabbit.
Pointing left.
They ran.
The tunnel opened into an abandoned greenhouse.
A black van idled outside.
Two men dragged Sophie toward it.
Roman fired.
One attacker dropped his weapon.
The other grabbed Sophie and raised a gun against her head.
Roman froze.
Emma did too.
The man shouted.
“Drop it!”
Roman lowered his gun.
Sophie looked toward Emma.
Terrified.
Emma raised her hands slowly.
Look at me.
Sophie did.
Remember bakery?
A tiny nod.
Emma continued.
Melted mud.
Confusion flickered across Sophie’s face.
Then understanding.
The joke.
Distraction.
Emma signed.
When I touch my hair, drop.
The gunman could not understand.
Roman watched Emma.
She kept talking aloud.
“Please don’t hurt her.”
The man shouted.
“Shut up!”
Emma lifted her hand toward her hair.
Sophie dropped.
Roman fired.
The attacker collapsed.
Roman reached Sophie in two strides.
He pulled her against him.
Emma ran toward them.
Sophie reached for her too.
For one moment all three held one another.
Then Emma saw movement behind Roman.
Another man emerged from the greenhouse.
Gun raised.
“Roman!”
She shoved Sophie.
Roman turned.
The gun fired.
Emma felt something slam into her side.
Not pain at first.
Pressure.
She looked down.
Red spread across her shirt.
Roman caught her.
His face changed.
“Emma.”
She tried to speak.
Nothing came.
Sophie screamed silently.
Roman lowered Emma to the ground.
“Stay with me.”
His hands pressed against the wound.
Emma looked at Sophie.
The child’s face blurred.
She lifted one shaking hand.
Safe?
Sophie nodded wildly.
Emma smiled.
“Good.”
May you like
Then darkness rushed toward her.
The last thing she saw was Roman DeLuca holding her as though the entire world had just broken.
