Chapter 5 - Caught in the Crossfire
Three days passed.
Emma tried to return to her normal life. She spent her days in the climate-controlled basement of the Yale library, meticulous cotton gloves on her hands, carefully separating fragile, centuries-old pages. She spent her evenings reading in her small living room with a cup of chamomile tea.
But the quiet she loved felt shattered.
Every time a dark car drove down her quiet street, her head snapped up. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped into her throat.
On Thursday evening, Paige called her in a panic.
"Emma, are you home?" Paige’s voice was trembling, tight with unshed tears.
Emma stood up from her desk, setting her mug down. "Paige? What's wrong? What happened?"
"Luca... Luca got a phone call an hour ago," Paige sobbed softly. "He went out to meet someone at one of his hotel construction sites near the docks. He said it was just business, but he left his main phone on the counter... and Emma, there's blood on his spare car keys."
Emma felt the air drain from her lungs. "Where are you?"
"I'm at our apartment in Midtown. I don't know who to call! Should I call the police?"
"No!" Emma shouted instinctively, remembering Roman's words about his family. "Do not call the police, Paige. Stay inside. Lock the doors."
"Emma, what if something happened to him?!"
"Stay there. I'm going to find out."
Emma hung up the phone, her hands shaking violently. She didn't have Luca's location. She didn't have connections. But she had one phone number that had been added to her contacts on Sunday night by a driver who had handed her a silver business card.
She dialed the number.
It rang once.
"Emma," Roman’s deep voice answered, instantly cutting through her panic.
"Luca is in trouble," Emma said, skipping any greeting. "Paige called me. He went to a dockside construction site in Bridgeport an hour ago. He left blood on his keys, Roman."
A sharp, heavy silence fell over the line.
"Where are you right now?" Roman demanded, his tone turning to pure, lethal iron.
"In my apartment."
"Stay there. My men are coming to get you—"
"No!" Emma snapped. "Paige is alone and terrified in Midtown! I'm going to Bridgeport!"
"Emma, do not—"
Emma hung up the phone, grabbed her coat and her keys, and ran down her apartment stairs into the cold night rain.
Thirty minutes later, Emma’s old Honda sedan pulled up to the dark, rusted gates of an abandoned industrial pier outside Bridgeport. Rain poured in heavy sheets, thunder rattling the windows of her car.
Huge crane shadows towered over empty steel framework. A single black SUV sat near the edge of the pier, its headlights cutting through the fog.
Emma stepped out of her car, pulling her coat tight around her, her shoes splashing through deep puddles.
Suddenly, a hand reached out from the shadows of a shipping container, grabbing her arm and wrenching her behind the heavy steel wall.
Emma gasped, opening her mouth to scream, but a large, warm hand clamped firmly over her lips.
"I told you to stay home," Roman’s voice growled into her ear.
Emma looked up. Roman stood over her, wearing a dark tactical jacket, his face illuminated by the distant amber lights of the docks. Behind him stood four heavily armed men with silenced automatic rifles.
Roman slowly removed his hand from her mouth, his dark eyes burning with fury and something closely resembling fear.
"You are insane," Roman hissed through his teeth. "You walked right into an active ambush site."
"Where is Luca?!" Emma whispered fiercely.
"He's inside the warehouse," Roman said quietly. "A lieutenant from the Moretti network thought he could use my cousin as leverage to rewrite our territory agreement."
Roman reached into his jacket, pulling out a sleek black handgun and checking the chamber with a sharp, practiced click.
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"Stay behind my men, Emma," Roman commanded, his voice dropping into a lethal register. "If a single shot is fired, you drop to the ground. Understand?"
Before Emma could answer, gunfire erupted from inside the warehouse.
