Chapter 2 - The House Behind Iron Gates
Emma did not think.
She threw herself sideways.
Sofia went down with her.
Vincent’s body hit the floor a second later as another pane of glass exploded above them.
Someone fired from outside.
The shot cracked through the bakery.
Emma curled over Sofia.
The little girl’s face was pressed against her chest.
She could not hear the gunshot.
That somehow made it worse.
She only felt Emma’s body jerk.
Saw Vincent’s men moving.
Saw glass falling.
Saw fear on everyone’s faces.
Vincent dragged both of them behind the heavy wooden counter.
“Stay down.”
Marco disappeared toward the back entrance.
The second bodyguard killed the emergency lights.
Vincent pulled a handgun from beneath his shirt.
Emma stared.
“Seriously?”
He glanced at her.
“This is the part you’re surprised by?”
Another shot punched through the window.
Emma flinched.
Sofia clung to her.
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“They’re not getting near her.”
He moved away.
Emma caught his sleeve.
“Don’t.”
He looked down.
“You have a daughter under this counter.”
The words stopped him.
For one second, Vincent Moretti looked like a man torn between two instincts.
Fight.
Stay.
Sofia solved the problem.
She grabbed his wrist.
Dad.
He crouched.
Her hands shook.
Stay.
Vincent lowered the weapon.
He stayed.
Minutes later, Marco reported the shooter had fled.
A black SUV pulled into the alley.
They left through the bakery kitchen.
Emma protested twice.
No one listened.
The third time, Vincent said, “You can argue with me after sunrise.”
“I can argue now.”
“I noticed.”
Sofia smiled.
Emma got into the SUV.
The ride took twenty-three minutes.
She counted because she needed something ordinary to do.
Vincent sat across from her.
Sofia sat beside Emma with both hands wrapped around Emma’s arm.
No one spoke much.
The city thinned into quieter streets.
Then iron gates opened.
Emma leaned toward the window.
The estate beyond them was not a house.
It was a fortress pretending to be a mansion.
Stone walls.
Security cameras.
Men at the entrance.
A circular driveway.
Emma turned slowly toward Vincent.
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a moat?”
“No.”
“Sharks?”
Sofia laughed silently.
Vincent rubbed his forehead.
“This is going to be a long night.”
Inside, the house surprised Emma.
She had expected cold marble and gold statues.
There was some marble.
But there were also children’s drawings on the refrigerator.
A pink backpack near the stairs.
A basket filled with stuffed animals.
A framed photograph of Sofia missing two front teeth.
Emma paused at it.
Vincent noticed.
“She was five.”
“She looks happy.”
“She was.”
The past tense hung between them.
Emma did not ask.
A woman in her sixties hurried from the hallway.
“Sofia!”
Sofia ran to her.
The woman pulled her close.
“This is Teresa,” Vincent said. “She’s been with my family for thirty years.”
Teresa looked at Emma.
Then at Vincent.
Then at Sofia, who was signing rapidly.
Teresa’s eyebrows rose.
“She says Emma saved her?”
Vincent nodded.
Teresa’s expression softened immediately.
“Then Emma stays.”
Emma blinked.
“I actually have a say in this.”
Teresa patted her hand.
“Of course, dear.”
Then she walked away as though the matter were settled.
Emma looked at Vincent.
“You people have a strange definition of choice.”
His mouth twitched.
A doctor arrived to check Sofia’s finger.
Then he insisted on examining Emma because she had several cuts from broken glass.
While he cleaned one along her forearm, Vincent stood near the doorway.
“You can stop hovering.”
“I’m not hovering.”
“You’re standing six feet away staring at the bandage.”
“I’m checking whether you’re injured.”
“That is hovering with better vocabulary.”
The doctor hid a smile.
Vincent ignored him.
Later, Sofia refused to sleep unless Emma stayed nearby.
Vincent tried negotiating.
The child signed faster.
Emma watched, amused.
“What is she saying?”
Vincent sighed.
“That if you leave, she’ll sit on the stairs all night.”
Emma looked at Sofia.
“Blackmail?”
Sofia nodded proudly.
Vincent stared at his daughter.
“She learned that from Teresa.”
Teresa shouted from downstairs.
“I heard that!”
Emma laughed.
Vincent did too.
It surprised both of them.
The sound was deep and brief.
But real.
For the first time, Emma understood why Sofia loved him despite the danger surrounding him.
There was another man beneath the reputation.
One Sofia still believed in.
They put Sofia to bed.
Emma sat beside her until the girl’s breathing slowed.
Vincent waited in the hallway.
When Emma stepped out, he handed her a glass of water.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not asking who I am.”
Emma leaned against the wall.
“I know enough.”
“You read newspapers?”
“I’m a baker. We’re allowed internet access.”
Vincent’s expression darkened.
“You should be afraid of me.”
“I am.”
He looked surprised.
Emma shrugged.
“I’m not stupid. But being afraid of you doesn’t mean I think you’re the worst person in this house.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened.
“What does that mean?”
“Someone knew Sofia would be at the bakery.”
Silence.
“Someone knew the driver would step outside.”
Silence.
“Someone knew the exact table she was sitting at.”
Vincent went still.
Emma continued.
“You’ve got cameras. Guards. Gates. Men who look like they were born wearing black suits.”
Marco appeared at the end of the hall.
“I own jeans.”
Emma glanced at him.
“I stand corrected.”
Vincent did not smile.
“You think it came from inside.”
“I think your daughter nearly died because someone had very specific information.”
Vincent stared at her for several seconds.
Then he said, “Come with me.”
He led her downstairs.
Behind a study door sat Marco and three other men.
Maps covered one wall.
Screens showed security feeds.
Emma stopped.
“This feels extremely illegal.”
Vincent pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“Vincent.”
Marco looked between them.
No one seemed accustomed to hearing someone answer Vincent Moretti that way.
He pointed at the chair.
She sat.
He placed Sofia’s schedule on the table.
School.
Speech therapy.
Art class.
Bakery.
Emma frowned.
“Why bakery?”
Vincent leaned back.
“My family owns it.”
That explained the name.
Moretti Bakery.
Emma stared.
“You own my workplace?”
“Yes.”
“You never thought to mention that?”
“We met two hours ago.”
“You could have fit it in.”
Marco cleared his throat.
“Sofia sometimes goes there after late hospital appointments because she likes the strawberry cake.”
Emma looked at Vincent.
“Who knew tonight?”
“Seven people.”
“Then start with seven.”
Marco almost smiled.
Vincent did not.
“They’re family.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something to me.”
Emma thought of Caleb.
Of her mother.
Of the way love could make intelligent people blind.
“That might be the problem.”
Vincent’s eyes met hers.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Sofia appeared in the doorway.
Barefoot.
Hair tangled.
She looked frightened.
Emma immediately stood.
“What happened?”
Sofia signed.
There is someone in my room.
Vincent was on his feet instantly.
Marco drew his weapon.
Emma moved toward Sofia.
Vincent stopped her.
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
He gave her a look.
She gave him one back.
Together they walked upstairs.
The bedroom was empty.
Window locked.
Closet empty.
Bathroom empty.
Vincent knelt beside Sofia.
“Who did you see?”
Sofia shook her head.
Not see.
Then she pointed beneath her pillow.
Emma reached under it.
Vincent caught her wrist.
“I’ll do it.”
He lifted the pillow.
There was a white envelope.
No stamp.
No name.
Vincent opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Sofia sleeping.
Taken from inside the room.
On the back, four words had been written in black ink.
NEXT TIME, SHE WAKES.
Vincent’s face went white.
Marco reached for his radio.
Emma looked at the locked window.
Then at the bedroom door.
The intruder had not broken in.
Someone inside the house had placed it there.
Downstairs, the security alarm suddenly chimed.
A camera feed went black.
Then another.
Then another.
Marco’s radio hissed.
A voice came through.
“Boss, the west gate just opened.”
Vincent turned toward the hall.
Emma held Sofia tighter.
Footsteps sounded on the staircase below.
Slow.
May you like
Heavy.
Coming up.
